D'Autrefois - Chapter 9 - When in Mombassa
Title: D'Autrefois
Part II: Chapter 9: When in Mombassa
Author: koushi
Rating: R
Word count: 3437
Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I in any way affiliated with Inception and/or its creators.
Eames was sleeping when he got the call. Rolling over in the bed to tap the snooze button on the alarm, he was confused by the continued ringing. Oh right, the phone.
Although he yearned to retrace his steps back to the action in his dream, Eames decided it could be a worthwhile call: employment had been unsteady since the Fischer job, and he had to admit: most of his erstwhile earnings had already been “donated” in the form of poker chips to the local casino.
“Hello?” he greeted the receiver groggily. The telephone was, thankfully, just on the other side of his radio slash alarm clock.
“Hey Eames, this is Ariadne. How are you doing?” a perky voice rang in his ear. Far too early for this much enthusiasm, he wanted to reply.
“S’pose I’m doing all right. Same old, same old. And yourself?” The boredom he felt was magnified in his voice.
“I am well, thank you. But I can’t say the same for Cobb.”
“Cobb, eh? What’s the matter with him? Still requires the attention of a psychiatrist, does he?”
“I’m afraid it’s more than that. You see, Arthur and I suspect that he’s been kidnapped by Cobol Engineering.”
“They’ve been tailing him for quite some time, yes. Frankly, I’m surprised the incompetent rascals took this long in capturing him.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, nothing, do go on.”
“Well, we need your help. There isn’t a safe way to approach this, and the only feasible method either of us can think of to infiltrate Cobol headquarters is through counterfeit documents and undercover work, your areas of expertise. Please consider this plea, we can’t do this ourselves.”
“Hm, was this an independent assessment or does our friend, Arthur, also admit he’s incapable of doing an entire mission alone? Come on, now, I want to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
Ariadne’s voice became muffled as she put her hand over the phone to speak to Arthur. I can see the bugger scowling and squirming in his suspenders, Eames snorted.
“Forget it,” Arthur said as he took the phone. Ariadne’s disagreement was clearly audible from the background.
A dollop of derision never hurt anyone. “Good day to you as well, Arthur. You shan’t be needing Eamesy’s aid then? Too big for your britches, is that right?”
“I swear I am going to punch you in the face through the phone line if you don’t wipe that smirk off of it,” Arthur threatened.
Eames made an exaggerated yawning sound. “I gladly await such an invention. It would make my job so much easier.”
A long, drawn-out sigh issued from Arthur’s side. “Okay, how about this. You do it for Cobb’s sake and forget I’m even involved. I’ll mostly be on the sidelines anyway.” Ariadne had been doing her part in tranquilizing him.
“Sounds tempting. But what’s really in it for me, apart from the vainglorious concept of rescuing a damsel in distress?”
“If he’s even being held in the Cobol compound, I doubt you could succeed anyway.”
“Mm?”
“Yeah, this might be a job too risky even for the likes of you.” Dammit. He may be an uppity little wretch, but he sure knows how to push just the right buttons.
“There are no failed missions when Eames is involved, you know this perfectly well from experience.”
“Heh, this may just be the one to take the cake. You are familiar with Cobol’s practices, I’m sure. They hire ex-hitmen, ex-cons, anyone and everyone who is willing to commit the most indecent acts of treachery and with the utmost bloodshed. Those are the scumbags we’re dealing with. And then that’s only the bottom rung of the ladder. The upper levels authorize wholesale massacres and genocide-”
“Exactly the reason they’re here in Kenya.”
“So yeah, you get the picture. Not the most friendly bunch. And as the inside agent, if something goes wrong, you’ll probably need to do some unsavory things to get your ass out alive.”
A highly dangerous operation with an infinitesimal projected rate of success? Operating solo against a ragtag band of killers who’d slice off a man’s head at the flip of a penny? Just the mental stimulation he needed to get himself back into tip-top shape. Eames was more than in.
“You may just have convinced me, Arthur. But I do have one condition.”
“What is it?” he asked suspiciously.
“I feel inspired. And naturally this means that a plan is forming already in the fertile soil of my mind.”
Manure, more like, Arthur sneered.
“I sense the need for a delicate extraction to adequately complete this mission and therefore require the aid of a... chemist. You know, to prepare a properly potent sedative on the unruly subject.”
“Done. Whatever it takes to get Cobb out of there.”
“Except compromising your swollen sense of dignity?”
“Goodbye, Mr. Eames.”
“Cheers.” He hung up and laid his head back down on his pillow. There was a lot of planning to be done for such a sensitive operation, but Eames already had an idea of where to start.
But for now, where were we? An abandoned alley. On their team: twenty faceless goons, armed to the teeth and on the prowl. On my side: one standard-issue grenade and my bare, bare hands. He closed his eyes and grinned in satisfaction. I pity their odds.
Yes, back to dreamland we go.
***
If you asked anyone who knew Yusuf what he was like, they would invariably reply that he smiled the biggest smiles. He was a well-known prankster, in fact that was the reason he decided to study chemistry: more explosions were always better in his view. He also loved a good joke, popping into conversations with the cleverest of punch lines, ready to contribute a witty word at the end of the day, however dreary it was.
If you actually knew Yusuf, knew him the way his cat, Maggie (short for Magnesium), did, you would find that it was true what they said. But there was a side that no one save the lone feline ever saw, that he didn’t allow anyone to approach. The fact of the matter is that he smiled the biggest smiles, yes, but he also cried the saltiest tears.
His bowl was untouched. It sat on the fold-up table next to the bed, growing colder every minute. This was the first thing Yusuf noticed as he entered the tiny room on the north corner of his shop’s basement. The second was the skeletal figure lying beneath the covers, every joint angular and clearly visible under an overlay of veins and skin that lacked the vibrancy of health. One might call it a prison, but if you asked Yusuf, he would have preferred the term “rehabilitation facility.”
“Please, you must eat,” Yusuf urged, picking it up and offering a spoonful of porridge to the sickly man’s colorless lips. “You haven’t swallowed a morsel in days...”
He turned away defiantly, rejecting his old friend’s goodwill.
“We have to get over this.” I have to get you over this. “So you can be yourself again...”
“Why does it matter as long as I’m happy?” his hoarse voice whispered weakly. “Just let me dream again.”
“It’s not real.”
“And your dreaming den, that’s real? You... don’t seem to have any moral qualms when turning a profit is the primary concern.”
“They’re old and decrepit. They just want to return to the virility of their youth, Musa. Can’t you understand that?”
“Some people age faster than others, as far as the mind goes.” He began to plead, as he always did during Yusuf’s check-ins. “May I please return? I can’t... can’t stand this life when I know there’s another more beautiful universe out there...”
What happened to you? You used to be so young, so alive. You used to sing and dance as if the world could tumble down around you and the rhythm of your melody would never be interrupted.
Yusuf’s eyes teared up at the remembrance: the day he’d concocted his newest substance.
I happened.
“The cure for sadness,” he’d proudly announced. “And I want you to have the honor of testing it, Musa. A lasting sedative with the added bonus of providing only positive dreams, so that your mind may become a utopia in and of itself.”
At the start, he’d welcomed his friend’s more frequent visits. Business was booming at the little chemistry shop at the end of the corridor, and Yusuf believed this was a testament to the genius of his creation. But then a darker side soon revealed itself. Patrons began to go under for longer periods of time, hours and hours, and refusing to leave at closing time: they became obstinate, rowdy, a primal hunger was visible in their widened, mindless eyes.
There would be side-effects, gradual but unmistakable... addiction, psychosis, torment, and finally the client would wither away, for nothing else could provide the joy that this potion had bestowed. Reality became all but optional.
He posted a sign out front: Closed Indefinitely. And luckily the majority of the addicted weren’t in deep enough to have suffered the later stages of the drug’s effects... Except Musa, who’d been the guinea pig. Musa who’d been using since day one.
If only a cure would come as easily. He worked for hours late into the night to find a proper antidote, but what could rid the mind of its addiction to a simulated, perfect form of happiness?
Yusuf set the food back on the table, taking his friend’s hand within his palms. His wrist was lined with numerous scars from overuse of the PASIV. “Being here with me, though, doesn’t that make you happy?”
But this he wouldn’t... couldn’t answer.
***
As soon as Eames stepped through the doorway of his shop, Yusuf knew what his intentions were.
“The answer is no,” he greeted pointedly.
“G’day to you too,” Eames grinned. Never make the mistake of underestimating this fellow. “May I ask that you reconsider my unspoken proposition?”
“I would love to help with whatever it is, but I’m afraid I simply don’t have the time,” Yusuf admitted, somewhat apologetic. His cat strolled over to Eames and yawned lazily, her tail twirling in curiosity as she encircled the visitor.
“It’ll be a lot of fun, I promise you,” Eames said. “And we won’t make you drive a van this time, though I cannot guarantee we won’t be shot at.”
Yusuf laughed. It was odd that such a strangely phrased invitation served only to pique his interest. Ever since the Fischer job, his own dreams had been filled with adventure and excitement, the type hard to replicate in reality without transacting with some shady characters, like, for example, the Cobol henchmen skirting the area. But he owed it to Musa to stay put this time. After all, the old man who swept the floors couldn’t restrain his withdrawal-induced hallucinations, and he’d almost relapsed during his previous absence during the Fischer job. Musa had broken open Yusuf’s private coffers out of desperation and, in the process, destroyed some of his possible candidates for antidotes along the way.
He needed to keep Musa off of the substance entirely, in hopes that that could eventually cure him if his lab work proved futile. Against his ethical considerations, he’d reopened shop awhile back, selling a lower dosage form of the sedative to the elderly visitors and limiting the sale only to those who were physically-impaired or terminally ill, ones whose bodies had given way to the test of time, ones who could truly benefit from the ideal world of dreams. Hopefully, he sighed, this restriction would lighten the load on his conscience.
The proceeds from the watered-down sedative and two shares from the last job with Eames had allowed him to fund replacements for the lost vials, plus make advancements due to the purchase of better equipment. Yusuf felt like he was getting closer to a breakthrough everyday. He couldn’t take another two weeks off.
Eames had since picked Maggie up from the ground, stroking her in his arms. Her enthusiastic purring could be heard even from Yusuf’s position behind the desk. “She’s always liked you,” he said, with an appreciative smile.
“What’s not to like?” he winked. “You know Maggie’s always been the best people reader; you should probably take a page out of her book and give me a chance.”
“Oh, you’ve had your chances, Mr. Eames,” he replied, smile yet widening and leaning forward with his arms against the glass countertop. “Plus it’s not you. It’s the shop, really. I’ve been thinking about expanding, so it’s going to require a lot of work.”
“A boutique of that size,” Eames pondered facetiously, “I’d say it would need a night watchman to operate safely. You know how dangerous this world is becoming.”
“And you know very well that I sleep downstairs,” Yusuf snickered. “And I’m a shallow sleeper. I’d hear the crackling of a lozenge wrapper a floor away.”
“How ironic. Wouldn’t that be what your nighty-night potions are for,” Eames smirked, scratching the feline behind her ears. “Or is it that you chemists don’t abuse what you peddle?”
That hit a sore spot. But Yusuf couldn’t let on, holding firm by flashing the biggest of his big smiles. “We’re not drug dealers: we’re apothecaries. Don’t they teach semantics back in England anymore?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Eames stepped closer, allowing Maggie to climb onto the desk. This she did not particularly enjoy as she couldn’t get any traction on the sheets of paper littering the surface. “Desertion from Her Majesty’s royal service makes my British passport about as useful as a flipbook.”
Yusuf chuckled along with him although he was a bit surprised: this was news to him. “Speaking of the jolly history of British imperialism, I believe it’s about time for tea,” he turned around to look through the jars of tea leaves in the cupboard behind him. “Which flavor would you like?”
“Mm, Earl Grey for me, please.”
“All right, Earl Grey it is for the desperate dandy in the daisy-yellow paisley.” He started up the tea-maker, watching the hot water drip into the pitcher.
“Semantics again, my dear Yusuf. What you call desperation is, to me, simply a way of life. Survival above all else, after all.” Eames took a seat in front of the desk, his arms crossed in amusement. It wasn’t often that someone commented on his style of dress: it was, despite the mockery, quite flattering actually, that someone even noticed.
“And so you’re saying that my presence at this new job is vital to your survival?” Yusuf joked. Although it is a good feeling indeed to be needed for whatever purpose, he thought, recalling Musa’s repeated denial with anguish.
“Quite literally, yes,” Eames said matter-of-factly. He then continued, gesturing toward the cabinets stocked full of vial after beaker after tube on the left wall. “Don’t even try to downplay your usefulness, Yusuf. It’s not very convincing.”
“If you think flattery will get you anywhere,” Yusuf grinned, removing the heated pitcher full of dark liquid from its holder and pouring the contents into two teacups, “you may be right.” If there was one thing Eames was-besides thoroughly suave-it was persuasive.
“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it,” Eames licked his lips as the fragrant odor of tea filled the room. “How do you think toadies and brownnosers get so far in life? People love getting their boots licked clean by some sniveling bastard with no self-respect. But making people feel powerful, heh, that only increases the power you have over them.”
“Are you propositioning my boots?” Yusuf asked, wiggling his toes within his sandals. “Because, let me tell you, you are barking up the wrong tree. Mine are in storage somewhere behind the VCR and the snow shovel.”
“Oh, Yusuf, Yusuf,” Eames shook his head. “Do you have something weighing on your mind, darling? Because you’re certainly grasping a little today.”
He didn’t respond, instead setting the saucer down in front of Eames, keeping one cup next to himself. They both took small sips, blowing the steam away from their faces as they drank.
He had just bought a new, more secure lock for Musa’s room down there. So his friend wasn’t going anywhere this time. And the man wasn’t in real danger due to the IV Yusuf would hook him up to, pretending it was a dosage of the drug and instead providing him a placebo of nutrients. Any discoveries he was meant to make in his chemistry lab, he would eventually make anyway...
Screw justifications, dammit. I just really want to get out there again and kick some ass, he admitted, recalling the incredible stunt he’d pulled when flipping the van over. Maybe this time someone will notice. Maybe this time I’ll have more than a supporting role.
“Perhaps I do need another vacation,” Yusuf said. “Now that I think of it.”
“Mm,” Eames nodded approvingly, smacking his lips. “Now you know why they say I have a silver tongue.”
***
It seemed like just yesterday that they’d arrived at LAX from Sydney. Again the vibrant commercialism of an American, no, scratch that, Californian airport assaulted their senses with piercing LED lights and catchy jingles and overpriced souvenirs with slogans drawn out of a hat. A smorgasbord of sensory inundation. Yep, they were back.
Eames had filled Yusuf in on the details of the operation in the meantime, as well as those of his own undercover mission. This only made the chemist more inclined to join up as he had long harbored a burning contempt for the havoc that the corporate mob was wreaking in his native country. Eames first did some initial fieldwork, masquerading as a Cobol agent stationed in Mombassa for a couple of days, a far easier task than doing so at headquarters due to the decentralized corporate control in Kenya. This allowed him to learn some vital intel as to protocol, information that they’d be scrutinizing with a magnifying glass at their main compound.
Yusuf elected to keep his little store running during his absence, instead of taking a hiatus, because the elderly patrons had grown to depend on him so. He instructed the little old man as to dosage for their sedative as well as an IV with a more neutral sleeping aid to help Musa get some of the rest he’d been craving, albeit not in the world where he thought he belonged. He’d said a teary goodbye to his slumbering friend, anxious as always about leaving him halfway across the globe, but, of course, only Maggie was there to witness the falling of the salty droplets, darkening the sheets like polka-dots.
They’d both put their lives on hold again, this time, if all went as planned, to save the life of their former team leader.
Greeting the weary travelers at the baggage claim terminal were their old colleagues, Arthur and Ariadne. Ariadne was overjoyed to see the two, hugging each with a wide grin on her face. Arthur merely nodded at them, standing awkwardly to the side until Eames walked up and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Good to see you again, old boy,” Eames teased with a one-sided smile. “Why the cold shoulder?” Arthur rigidified like a board at the unwanted touch.
“Ah, still under the regime of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,’ I presume,” Eames chuckled.
“I’m going to have you on the floor in three seconds if you don’t lay off right now, sleazeball,” Arthur snarled.
“This sort of comment doesn’t help your case.”
“Um, Arthur. Why don’t you go pick up the car from the parking garage, so we don’t have to carry all this around?” Ariadne suggested, trying to break up the long-time rivals. He obligingly headed out to retrieve and drive it to the loading zone out front for their convenience, shooting one last nasty look in Eames’ direction before parting.
“Actually, we may need a taxi,” Eames declared. “Do you by any chance know where the nearest hotel is?”
Ariadne had a more economical solution. “No, no. You guys can stay at my place. It’s pretty small, but there’s a twin-sized bed and an inflatable mattress.”
“Are you sure about that? I mean where would you sleep?” Yusuf inquired, not wanting to intrude.
“Um... about that, I’m staying with Arthur right now,” she answered sheepishly.
Eames and Yusuf exchanged knowing looks. “Ah...”
“Oh, no. It’s not like that, you guys!” she protested, her hands up in defense. But the damage was already done.
Next Chapter
D'Autrefois - Master Post
Part II: Chapter 9: When in Mombassa
Author: koushi
Rating: R
Word count: 3437
Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I in any way affiliated with Inception and/or its creators.
Eames was sleeping when he got the call. Rolling over in the bed to tap the snooze button on the alarm, he was confused by the continued ringing. Oh right, the phone.
Although he yearned to retrace his steps back to the action in his dream, Eames decided it could be a worthwhile call: employment had been unsteady since the Fischer job, and he had to admit: most of his erstwhile earnings had already been “donated” in the form of poker chips to the local casino.
“Hello?” he greeted the receiver groggily. The telephone was, thankfully, just on the other side of his radio slash alarm clock.
“Hey Eames, this is Ariadne. How are you doing?” a perky voice rang in his ear. Far too early for this much enthusiasm, he wanted to reply.
“S’pose I’m doing all right. Same old, same old. And yourself?” The boredom he felt was magnified in his voice.
“I am well, thank you. But I can’t say the same for Cobb.”
“Cobb, eh? What’s the matter with him? Still requires the attention of a psychiatrist, does he?”
“I’m afraid it’s more than that. You see, Arthur and I suspect that he’s been kidnapped by Cobol Engineering.”
“They’ve been tailing him for quite some time, yes. Frankly, I’m surprised the incompetent rascals took this long in capturing him.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, nothing, do go on.”
“Well, we need your help. There isn’t a safe way to approach this, and the only feasible method either of us can think of to infiltrate Cobol headquarters is through counterfeit documents and undercover work, your areas of expertise. Please consider this plea, we can’t do this ourselves.”
“Hm, was this an independent assessment or does our friend, Arthur, also admit he’s incapable of doing an entire mission alone? Come on, now, I want to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
Ariadne’s voice became muffled as she put her hand over the phone to speak to Arthur. I can see the bugger scowling and squirming in his suspenders, Eames snorted.
“Forget it,” Arthur said as he took the phone. Ariadne’s disagreement was clearly audible from the background.
A dollop of derision never hurt anyone. “Good day to you as well, Arthur. You shan’t be needing Eamesy’s aid then? Too big for your britches, is that right?”
“I swear I am going to punch you in the face through the phone line if you don’t wipe that smirk off of it,” Arthur threatened.
Eames made an exaggerated yawning sound. “I gladly await such an invention. It would make my job so much easier.”
A long, drawn-out sigh issued from Arthur’s side. “Okay, how about this. You do it for Cobb’s sake and forget I’m even involved. I’ll mostly be on the sidelines anyway.” Ariadne had been doing her part in tranquilizing him.
“Sounds tempting. But what’s really in it for me, apart from the vainglorious concept of rescuing a damsel in distress?”
“If he’s even being held in the Cobol compound, I doubt you could succeed anyway.”
“Mm?”
“Yeah, this might be a job too risky even for the likes of you.” Dammit. He may be an uppity little wretch, but he sure knows how to push just the right buttons.
“There are no failed missions when Eames is involved, you know this perfectly well from experience.”
“Heh, this may just be the one to take the cake. You are familiar with Cobol’s practices, I’m sure. They hire ex-hitmen, ex-cons, anyone and everyone who is willing to commit the most indecent acts of treachery and with the utmost bloodshed. Those are the scumbags we’re dealing with. And then that’s only the bottom rung of the ladder. The upper levels authorize wholesale massacres and genocide-”
“Exactly the reason they’re here in Kenya.”
“So yeah, you get the picture. Not the most friendly bunch. And as the inside agent, if something goes wrong, you’ll probably need to do some unsavory things to get your ass out alive.”
A highly dangerous operation with an infinitesimal projected rate of success? Operating solo against a ragtag band of killers who’d slice off a man’s head at the flip of a penny? Just the mental stimulation he needed to get himself back into tip-top shape. Eames was more than in.
“You may just have convinced me, Arthur. But I do have one condition.”
“What is it?” he asked suspiciously.
“I feel inspired. And naturally this means that a plan is forming already in the fertile soil of my mind.”
Manure, more like, Arthur sneered.
“I sense the need for a delicate extraction to adequately complete this mission and therefore require the aid of a... chemist. You know, to prepare a properly potent sedative on the unruly subject.”
“Done. Whatever it takes to get Cobb out of there.”
“Except compromising your swollen sense of dignity?”
“Goodbye, Mr. Eames.”
“Cheers.” He hung up and laid his head back down on his pillow. There was a lot of planning to be done for such a sensitive operation, but Eames already had an idea of where to start.
But for now, where were we? An abandoned alley. On their team: twenty faceless goons, armed to the teeth and on the prowl. On my side: one standard-issue grenade and my bare, bare hands. He closed his eyes and grinned in satisfaction. I pity their odds.
Yes, back to dreamland we go.
***
If you asked anyone who knew Yusuf what he was like, they would invariably reply that he smiled the biggest smiles. He was a well-known prankster, in fact that was the reason he decided to study chemistry: more explosions were always better in his view. He also loved a good joke, popping into conversations with the cleverest of punch lines, ready to contribute a witty word at the end of the day, however dreary it was.
If you actually knew Yusuf, knew him the way his cat, Maggie (short for Magnesium), did, you would find that it was true what they said. But there was a side that no one save the lone feline ever saw, that he didn’t allow anyone to approach. The fact of the matter is that he smiled the biggest smiles, yes, but he also cried the saltiest tears.
His bowl was untouched. It sat on the fold-up table next to the bed, growing colder every minute. This was the first thing Yusuf noticed as he entered the tiny room on the north corner of his shop’s basement. The second was the skeletal figure lying beneath the covers, every joint angular and clearly visible under an overlay of veins and skin that lacked the vibrancy of health. One might call it a prison, but if you asked Yusuf, he would have preferred the term “rehabilitation facility.”
“Please, you must eat,” Yusuf urged, picking it up and offering a spoonful of porridge to the sickly man’s colorless lips. “You haven’t swallowed a morsel in days...”
He turned away defiantly, rejecting his old friend’s goodwill.
“We have to get over this.” I have to get you over this. “So you can be yourself again...”
“Why does it matter as long as I’m happy?” his hoarse voice whispered weakly. “Just let me dream again.”
“It’s not real.”
“And your dreaming den, that’s real? You... don’t seem to have any moral qualms when turning a profit is the primary concern.”
“They’re old and decrepit. They just want to return to the virility of their youth, Musa. Can’t you understand that?”
“Some people age faster than others, as far as the mind goes.” He began to plead, as he always did during Yusuf’s check-ins. “May I please return? I can’t... can’t stand this life when I know there’s another more beautiful universe out there...”
What happened to you? You used to be so young, so alive. You used to sing and dance as if the world could tumble down around you and the rhythm of your melody would never be interrupted.
Yusuf’s eyes teared up at the remembrance: the day he’d concocted his newest substance.
I happened.
“The cure for sadness,” he’d proudly announced. “And I want you to have the honor of testing it, Musa. A lasting sedative with the added bonus of providing only positive dreams, so that your mind may become a utopia in and of itself.”
At the start, he’d welcomed his friend’s more frequent visits. Business was booming at the little chemistry shop at the end of the corridor, and Yusuf believed this was a testament to the genius of his creation. But then a darker side soon revealed itself. Patrons began to go under for longer periods of time, hours and hours, and refusing to leave at closing time: they became obstinate, rowdy, a primal hunger was visible in their widened, mindless eyes.
There would be side-effects, gradual but unmistakable... addiction, psychosis, torment, and finally the client would wither away, for nothing else could provide the joy that this potion had bestowed. Reality became all but optional.
He posted a sign out front: Closed Indefinitely. And luckily the majority of the addicted weren’t in deep enough to have suffered the later stages of the drug’s effects... Except Musa, who’d been the guinea pig. Musa who’d been using since day one.
If only a cure would come as easily. He worked for hours late into the night to find a proper antidote, but what could rid the mind of its addiction to a simulated, perfect form of happiness?
Yusuf set the food back on the table, taking his friend’s hand within his palms. His wrist was lined with numerous scars from overuse of the PASIV. “Being here with me, though, doesn’t that make you happy?”
But this he wouldn’t... couldn’t answer.
***
As soon as Eames stepped through the doorway of his shop, Yusuf knew what his intentions were.
“The answer is no,” he greeted pointedly.
“G’day to you too,” Eames grinned. Never make the mistake of underestimating this fellow. “May I ask that you reconsider my unspoken proposition?”
“I would love to help with whatever it is, but I’m afraid I simply don’t have the time,” Yusuf admitted, somewhat apologetic. His cat strolled over to Eames and yawned lazily, her tail twirling in curiosity as she encircled the visitor.
“It’ll be a lot of fun, I promise you,” Eames said. “And we won’t make you drive a van this time, though I cannot guarantee we won’t be shot at.”
Yusuf laughed. It was odd that such a strangely phrased invitation served only to pique his interest. Ever since the Fischer job, his own dreams had been filled with adventure and excitement, the type hard to replicate in reality without transacting with some shady characters, like, for example, the Cobol henchmen skirting the area. But he owed it to Musa to stay put this time. After all, the old man who swept the floors couldn’t restrain his withdrawal-induced hallucinations, and he’d almost relapsed during his previous absence during the Fischer job. Musa had broken open Yusuf’s private coffers out of desperation and, in the process, destroyed some of his possible candidates for antidotes along the way.
He needed to keep Musa off of the substance entirely, in hopes that that could eventually cure him if his lab work proved futile. Against his ethical considerations, he’d reopened shop awhile back, selling a lower dosage form of the sedative to the elderly visitors and limiting the sale only to those who were physically-impaired or terminally ill, ones whose bodies had given way to the test of time, ones who could truly benefit from the ideal world of dreams. Hopefully, he sighed, this restriction would lighten the load on his conscience.
The proceeds from the watered-down sedative and two shares from the last job with Eames had allowed him to fund replacements for the lost vials, plus make advancements due to the purchase of better equipment. Yusuf felt like he was getting closer to a breakthrough everyday. He couldn’t take another two weeks off.
Eames had since picked Maggie up from the ground, stroking her in his arms. Her enthusiastic purring could be heard even from Yusuf’s position behind the desk. “She’s always liked you,” he said, with an appreciative smile.
“What’s not to like?” he winked. “You know Maggie’s always been the best people reader; you should probably take a page out of her book and give me a chance.”
“Oh, you’ve had your chances, Mr. Eames,” he replied, smile yet widening and leaning forward with his arms against the glass countertop. “Plus it’s not you. It’s the shop, really. I’ve been thinking about expanding, so it’s going to require a lot of work.”
“A boutique of that size,” Eames pondered facetiously, “I’d say it would need a night watchman to operate safely. You know how dangerous this world is becoming.”
“And you know very well that I sleep downstairs,” Yusuf snickered. “And I’m a shallow sleeper. I’d hear the crackling of a lozenge wrapper a floor away.”
“How ironic. Wouldn’t that be what your nighty-night potions are for,” Eames smirked, scratching the feline behind her ears. “Or is it that you chemists don’t abuse what you peddle?”
That hit a sore spot. But Yusuf couldn’t let on, holding firm by flashing the biggest of his big smiles. “We’re not drug dealers: we’re apothecaries. Don’t they teach semantics back in England anymore?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Eames stepped closer, allowing Maggie to climb onto the desk. This she did not particularly enjoy as she couldn’t get any traction on the sheets of paper littering the surface. “Desertion from Her Majesty’s royal service makes my British passport about as useful as a flipbook.”
Yusuf chuckled along with him although he was a bit surprised: this was news to him. “Speaking of the jolly history of British imperialism, I believe it’s about time for tea,” he turned around to look through the jars of tea leaves in the cupboard behind him. “Which flavor would you like?”
“Mm, Earl Grey for me, please.”
“All right, Earl Grey it is for the desperate dandy in the daisy-yellow paisley.” He started up the tea-maker, watching the hot water drip into the pitcher.
“Semantics again, my dear Yusuf. What you call desperation is, to me, simply a way of life. Survival above all else, after all.” Eames took a seat in front of the desk, his arms crossed in amusement. It wasn’t often that someone commented on his style of dress: it was, despite the mockery, quite flattering actually, that someone even noticed.
“And so you’re saying that my presence at this new job is vital to your survival?” Yusuf joked. Although it is a good feeling indeed to be needed for whatever purpose, he thought, recalling Musa’s repeated denial with anguish.
“Quite literally, yes,” Eames said matter-of-factly. He then continued, gesturing toward the cabinets stocked full of vial after beaker after tube on the left wall. “Don’t even try to downplay your usefulness, Yusuf. It’s not very convincing.”
“If you think flattery will get you anywhere,” Yusuf grinned, removing the heated pitcher full of dark liquid from its holder and pouring the contents into two teacups, “you may be right.” If there was one thing Eames was-besides thoroughly suave-it was persuasive.
“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it,” Eames licked his lips as the fragrant odor of tea filled the room. “How do you think toadies and brownnosers get so far in life? People love getting their boots licked clean by some sniveling bastard with no self-respect. But making people feel powerful, heh, that only increases the power you have over them.”
“Are you propositioning my boots?” Yusuf asked, wiggling his toes within his sandals. “Because, let me tell you, you are barking up the wrong tree. Mine are in storage somewhere behind the VCR and the snow shovel.”
“Oh, Yusuf, Yusuf,” Eames shook his head. “Do you have something weighing on your mind, darling? Because you’re certainly grasping a little today.”
He didn’t respond, instead setting the saucer down in front of Eames, keeping one cup next to himself. They both took small sips, blowing the steam away from their faces as they drank.
He had just bought a new, more secure lock for Musa’s room down there. So his friend wasn’t going anywhere this time. And the man wasn’t in real danger due to the IV Yusuf would hook him up to, pretending it was a dosage of the drug and instead providing him a placebo of nutrients. Any discoveries he was meant to make in his chemistry lab, he would eventually make anyway...
Screw justifications, dammit. I just really want to get out there again and kick some ass, he admitted, recalling the incredible stunt he’d pulled when flipping the van over. Maybe this time someone will notice. Maybe this time I’ll have more than a supporting role.
“Perhaps I do need another vacation,” Yusuf said. “Now that I think of it.”
“Mm,” Eames nodded approvingly, smacking his lips. “Now you know why they say I have a silver tongue.”
***
It seemed like just yesterday that they’d arrived at LAX from Sydney. Again the vibrant commercialism of an American, no, scratch that, Californian airport assaulted their senses with piercing LED lights and catchy jingles and overpriced souvenirs with slogans drawn out of a hat. A smorgasbord of sensory inundation. Yep, they were back.
Eames had filled Yusuf in on the details of the operation in the meantime, as well as those of his own undercover mission. This only made the chemist more inclined to join up as he had long harbored a burning contempt for the havoc that the corporate mob was wreaking in his native country. Eames first did some initial fieldwork, masquerading as a Cobol agent stationed in Mombassa for a couple of days, a far easier task than doing so at headquarters due to the decentralized corporate control in Kenya. This allowed him to learn some vital intel as to protocol, information that they’d be scrutinizing with a magnifying glass at their main compound.
Yusuf elected to keep his little store running during his absence, instead of taking a hiatus, because the elderly patrons had grown to depend on him so. He instructed the little old man as to dosage for their sedative as well as an IV with a more neutral sleeping aid to help Musa get some of the rest he’d been craving, albeit not in the world where he thought he belonged. He’d said a teary goodbye to his slumbering friend, anxious as always about leaving him halfway across the globe, but, of course, only Maggie was there to witness the falling of the salty droplets, darkening the sheets like polka-dots.
They’d both put their lives on hold again, this time, if all went as planned, to save the life of their former team leader.
Greeting the weary travelers at the baggage claim terminal were their old colleagues, Arthur and Ariadne. Ariadne was overjoyed to see the two, hugging each with a wide grin on her face. Arthur merely nodded at them, standing awkwardly to the side until Eames walked up and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Good to see you again, old boy,” Eames teased with a one-sided smile. “Why the cold shoulder?” Arthur rigidified like a board at the unwanted touch.
“Ah, still under the regime of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,’ I presume,” Eames chuckled.
“I’m going to have you on the floor in three seconds if you don’t lay off right now, sleazeball,” Arthur snarled.
“This sort of comment doesn’t help your case.”
“Um, Arthur. Why don’t you go pick up the car from the parking garage, so we don’t have to carry all this around?” Ariadne suggested, trying to break up the long-time rivals. He obligingly headed out to retrieve and drive it to the loading zone out front for their convenience, shooting one last nasty look in Eames’ direction before parting.
“Actually, we may need a taxi,” Eames declared. “Do you by any chance know where the nearest hotel is?”
Ariadne had a more economical solution. “No, no. You guys can stay at my place. It’s pretty small, but there’s a twin-sized bed and an inflatable mattress.”
“Are you sure about that? I mean where would you sleep?” Yusuf inquired, not wanting to intrude.
“Um... about that, I’m staying with Arthur right now,” she answered sheepishly.
Eames and Yusuf exchanged knowing looks. “Ah...”
“Oh, no. It’s not like that, you guys!” she protested, her hands up in defense. But the damage was already done.
Next Chapter
D'Autrefois - Master Post