Better Off Ted/The Middleman: Smells Like Science
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,009
Disclaimer: Recognize anything? Then it ain't mine.
A/N: Fiiinally, it's done! Now, I can move on.
Summary: The Middleman and Wendy pay a special visit to a former recipient of Middle-services at Veridian Dynamics.
Spoilers: A handful of references to past episodes in both canons. Nothing wildly important.
“Morning, boss,” Wendy says as she strides into MiddleHQ. She nods to Ida with a cordial, “HAL’s crotchety mother-in-law.” The android doesn’t react. Wendy slips into a chair and kicks her feet up on a desk, “What’s on the docket today? We gonna check on the Bolasian Watermice, see how the migration went?”
The Middleman looks up from the rather unsensational file he’s perusing. “Today, Dubby, we take a different kind of field trip.”
Wendy sits up, “Ooh, where? Cutthroat Cove? The war-torn galaxy of Clothar? 1947?”
The Middleman snaps the file shut. “Veridian Dynamics.”
Wendy’s brow furrows, “Veridian Dynamics, what’s going on there that requires Middle-action?”
“It’s precisely what’s not going on that we need to check out, Dubby. Let’s beat feet, I’ll fill you in on the mission details in the car.” He stands, “Ida, hold down the fort, will ya’?”
“No.”
The Middleman pauses, confusion tingeing his handsome face.
Ida looks up from her sudoku, “Oh just go, you big dope.”
The Middleman grins at her, shakes an admonishing finger, and jogs off with Wendy to the Middlegarage.
***
“So, what’s the skinny at Veridian?” Wendy asks.
“Do you recall Eleanor Draper, the nascent mad scientist with the nefarious plot to topple the Greek system at Reitman University?”
“Do I remember the crazy petty nerd girl who forced me to have full-on screaming cat fight with your body while you floated incorporeally nearby? Yes, whether I like it or not.”
“Well, today we’re checking up on another such dangerously keen mind, one we caught early and for the most part have kept clear of delinquent technological, biological, astronomical, and geological activities.”
“For the most part?”
The Middleman frowns and shrugs uncomfortably, “Let’s just say he hasn’t endeared himself to Jupiter.”
“Jupiter who?”
“Jupiter, the largest planet in our solar system. Now, intellectual talents such as his and Eleanor’s require constant tending lest they stray from the straight and narrow of science. It’s our job to follow-up, check-in, and generally keep him honest.”
Wendy blinks, “We’re his parole officers?”
“That... wouldn’t be inaccurate.”
“Swell.”
***
The elevator door dings on the twenty-fifth floor, and Wendy’s hand slips into her pocket to palm her latest badge. The door slides open and they aren’t three steps into the bustling, well-appointed office before a voice cries out, “Miles!”
A man is walking towards them, practically jogging. He has a wide, white grin on his handsome face. His dark eyes sparkle with pleasure. “Miles Dyson, I didn’t know you’d be by today,” he reaches out and gives the Middleman’s hand a double-gripped squeeze.
Is it bromantic in here or is it just me, Wendy quips silently, but readies a friendly smile when the Middleman turns to her. “Mister Crisp, this is my associate-in-training Andy Goode. She’ll be observing proceedings today in preparation for her own future client-visits.”
“Great, that’s great,” Crisp beams down at her and gives her what turns out to be a nice, warm, dry handshake, “Any friend of Miles is a friend of mine. Call me Ted. Speaking of which,” his attention darts back to her boss, “what on Earth is it going to take to get you to call me Ted? Come on, you’ve been coming here for years, you’re like family!”
The Middleman grins bashfully at Ted’s words and the hand clapped on his shoulder. “I always appreciate your welcoming attitude- Ted.” The man practically vibrates with joy. “Company inspectors don’t often receive such kind treatment.”
“Hey, the way I see it, you’re doing us a favor. Weeding out the bad apples, keeping us on our toes- we wouldn’t be half as productive without you arou-”
“Dyson,” a cold voice hisses from behind Ted. His mouth snaps shut. An imperious blonde woman approaches them, her eyes two glittering slits of animosity.
“Hello, Miss Palmer, I hope you’re having a pleasant day.”
“I was, until our cameras picked you up. All set to barge into our workday and throw your weight around? Didn’t you do enough damage last time? The progress we could’ve made with that compound-”
“Might have led to the disintegration of the world’s cellulose,” the Middleman interrupts firmly.
“There was only an eleven percent probability of that!” she snaps, “We were working on it!”
“Easy, Veronica,” Ted says, holding up his hands and being sure to make eye-contact with the irate woman, “Miles is just doing his job here. And the sooner he can get on with it, the sooner he can leave, right?”
Veronica nods grudgingly, beginning to deflate.
“I don’t think you’ve met Miles’ associate,” Ted continues. Wendy wants to kick him. “Veronica, this is Andy Goode. Andy, Veronica is the head of this division of Veridian.”
Wendy mentally goes through the steps of Two-Fingered Asp Strike as Veronica surveys her like a black mold stain, “You’re multiplying. Yippee.” Her frown turns curious, “Andy Goode... that name’s familiar. How do I know it? An internship? Fundraiser? Class-action lawsuit?”
“Uh, none of the above?” Plant right foot behind, adjust the angle, bring fist to waist, fingers straight...
Veronica sniffs, her interest clearly expended, “I suppose there’s no getting rid of you, Dyson, so we might as well get it over with. Not unlike syphilis. Keep an eye on them, Ted.” She glides away, leaving Ted to smile awkwardly this time.
“She’ll come around sooner or later,” he says.
“Just after the pigs take off, I assume,” the Middleman replies. The two men laugh, and Wendy boggles. She’s never seen her boss act so much like a regular guy. She wonders if he likes being Miles Dyson: Veridian inspector, enemy of Veronica Palmer, friend of Ted Crisp.
“Well, time’s wasting,” Ted announces, “I’ll take you two down to the labs and you can get started.”
They descend into the bowels of Veridian Dynamics. The labs are very well-lit and clean, cluttered with a colorful variety of equipment. Bubbling flasks, glass tubes, things in jars in large cabinets- the works. People in white coats don’t take much notice of the new arrivals beyond a few scattered “Hey, Ted”s which are promptly returned.
He stops one of them, “Everett, have you seen Phil? Miles Dyson’s here to talk with him.”
The scientist’s eyes flick from Ted to the Middleman and Wendy to all around the lab. “Uh, no. Sorry. Maybe he’s at lunch?”
“Now, Everett, we both know that’s not true,” Ted says, voice slipping into a practiced fatherly tone, “Phil’s views on eggplant casserole have been well documented. Come on, where is he?”
Everett continues to squirm until another scientist steps up behind him and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, man,” he murmurs. Everett gives him a grateful smile before fleeing.
Ted shifts his attention to the newcomer, “Lem, can you tell me where Phil is?”
“In a minute, Ted,” Lem replies, “Also, hello.” He turns to the Middleman, “So, back again, Mister Dyson?” Something about the way he says her boss’ cover name makes Wendy frown.
The Middleman shrugs casually, “Just doing my job, Doctor Hewitt.”
“Phil was pretty sore about the compound last time. Wouldn’t so much as hypothesize for a week.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but Doctor Mymen knows the rules. As do you. May I speak with him?”
Lem gives him a hard look, but cocks his head once and walks away. Ted excuses himself to go back upstairs, and Wendy and her boss follow Lem to an empty office. “You wait in here,” he tells the Middleman. “You wait out here,” he tells Wendy.
“Now, Doctor Hewitt,” the Middleman says, “Miss Goode is going to be my replacement in the future. She must become acquainted with the process.”
Lem just shakes his head, “Not today. Later, maybe, but not this time.”
The Middleman takes a step closer. His voice is lowered as he asks, “Is he really that out of sorts?”
Deep-seated pain fills Lem’s face. “I... It’s probably a good thing you’re here.”
“I understand.” The Middleman turns to Wendy, “Miss Goode, if you wouldn’t mind waiting in the lab, this shouldn’t take long.”
“Yeah, sure, boss.” Lem walks away, and Wendy grabs the Middleman’s lapel and drags him close enough to whisper harshly, “Exactly how many people in here know who we really are?”
“Maintain your composure, Dubby, everything is well in hand. Veridian has a tendency to bring on scientific minds of... questionable stability. Minds members of the Middle-organization have had contact with in one capacity or another over time. Besides, the grape vine here is more like Jack’s beanstalk- our secret could hardly stay such forever.”
“Okay, explain to me why they haven’t all been shipped off to Greenland like Eleanor.”
“Because they’re less dangerous to themselves and others here. The higher echelons of Veridian Dynamics are not wholly unaware of the existence of the Middleman, and are perfectly aware of the risk assumed upon hiring these individuals. Their facilities are secure, their ability to contain potential incidents is impeccable, and whenever we like, we are allowed come in and make certain the high-risk cases stay on the wagon. All in all, it’s a goshdarned beneficial partnership, Dubby, and one I hope will continue after I’m gone.”
Wendy grimaces automatically at the thought of what will have to precede her assuming the role of Middleman, but dutifully says, “All right, boss, message received.”
“Glad to hear it.” He straightens in time to see Lem return with Phil in tow, one hand on his arm. Phil’s round eyes are cast down, but he manages to glance up and quirk a smile for the Middleman.
“Good morning, Doctor Mymen. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Hello, Mister Dyson. Let’s... let’s get this... show on the road. We’ve got a lot of work to do today.”
“I don’t doubt it.” The Middleman moves to the office’s door, “After you.”
They walk in and shut the door behind them, leaving Wendy and Lem outside in the lab. The scientist pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “Uh, I hope you aren’t offended... or anything. It’s just... it’s a personal thing, these, uh, meetings...”
Wendy lifts a hand, “Don’t worry about it.” She sighs, bracing an arm on one hip and shifting her weight onto one leg.
Lem rocks on his feet, hands clasped behind his back. “Could I, uh, interest you in an experimental energy patch? We’ve worked out, like, ninety-nine percent of the kinks.”
“No thanks.”
“Fair enough.” Another silent moment. “Could I ask you something?”
“I guess...”
“How would you feel about a dinner plate that cooks your food for you?”
“How would it do that?”
“By bursting into flames. We call it the plove- part plate, part stove. Pretty cool, huh?”
Wendy sighs again, and checks her watch.
***
Twenty-three minutes and twelve seconds later, Veronica watches Miles Dyson and Andy Goode leave Veridian Dynamics on the closed circuit cameras. She’s waiting for the right moment.
“Freeze image,” she says, and the camera pauses, just as Dyson faces the lens. “Send image through the face-matching search engine.” A cheery boop sounds and Dyson’s face dissolves artfully into the software. New images begin to pop up. Mostly security videos, but also various ID badges that have been logged into buildings’ scanners. They’re all from different, obscure government departments and businesses, and they all have names on them that aren’t Miles Dyson. “I knew it,” Veronica murmurs, eyes narrowing.
Suddenly, the search stops. The screen wavers, and winks out. One small window appears in the black. It’s a video feed, showing a matronly woman with frizzy brown hair and a hideously multi-colored dress. She’s filing her nails and looks up only to shoot Veronica a withering glare. “That’s enough snooping for you, princess.”
“Who are you? What are you doing in my software?”
“Ask your bosses, though I won’t be held responsible for the consequences.”
The window closes, and when Veronica can get her computer to turn on again, the face-matching search engine program is gone, as if it never existed.
Word Count: 2,009
Disclaimer: Recognize anything? Then it ain't mine.
A/N: Fiiinally, it's done! Now, I can move on.
Summary: The Middleman and Wendy pay a special visit to a former recipient of Middle-services at Veridian Dynamics.
Spoilers: A handful of references to past episodes in both canons. Nothing wildly important.
“Morning, boss,” Wendy says as she strides into MiddleHQ. She nods to Ida with a cordial, “HAL’s crotchety mother-in-law.” The android doesn’t react. Wendy slips into a chair and kicks her feet up on a desk, “What’s on the docket today? We gonna check on the Bolasian Watermice, see how the migration went?”
The Middleman looks up from the rather unsensational file he’s perusing. “Today, Dubby, we take a different kind of field trip.”
Wendy sits up, “Ooh, where? Cutthroat Cove? The war-torn galaxy of Clothar? 1947?”
The Middleman snaps the file shut. “Veridian Dynamics.”
Wendy’s brow furrows, “Veridian Dynamics, what’s going on there that requires Middle-action?”
“It’s precisely what’s not going on that we need to check out, Dubby. Let’s beat feet, I’ll fill you in on the mission details in the car.” He stands, “Ida, hold down the fort, will ya’?”
“No.”
The Middleman pauses, confusion tingeing his handsome face.
Ida looks up from her sudoku, “Oh just go, you big dope.”
The Middleman grins at her, shakes an admonishing finger, and jogs off with Wendy to the Middlegarage.
***
“So, what’s the skinny at Veridian?” Wendy asks.
“Do you recall Eleanor Draper, the nascent mad scientist with the nefarious plot to topple the Greek system at Reitman University?”
“Do I remember the crazy petty nerd girl who forced me to have full-on screaming cat fight with your body while you floated incorporeally nearby? Yes, whether I like it or not.”
“Well, today we’re checking up on another such dangerously keen mind, one we caught early and for the most part have kept clear of delinquent technological, biological, astronomical, and geological activities.”
“For the most part?”
The Middleman frowns and shrugs uncomfortably, “Let’s just say he hasn’t endeared himself to Jupiter.”
“Jupiter who?”
“Jupiter, the largest planet in our solar system. Now, intellectual talents such as his and Eleanor’s require constant tending lest they stray from the straight and narrow of science. It’s our job to follow-up, check-in, and generally keep him honest.”
Wendy blinks, “We’re his parole officers?”
“That... wouldn’t be inaccurate.”
“Swell.”
***
The elevator door dings on the twenty-fifth floor, and Wendy’s hand slips into her pocket to palm her latest badge. The door slides open and they aren’t three steps into the bustling, well-appointed office before a voice cries out, “Miles!”
A man is walking towards them, practically jogging. He has a wide, white grin on his handsome face. His dark eyes sparkle with pleasure. “Miles Dyson, I didn’t know you’d be by today,” he reaches out and gives the Middleman’s hand a double-gripped squeeze.
Is it bromantic in here or is it just me, Wendy quips silently, but readies a friendly smile when the Middleman turns to her. “Mister Crisp, this is my associate-in-training Andy Goode. She’ll be observing proceedings today in preparation for her own future client-visits.”
“Great, that’s great,” Crisp beams down at her and gives her what turns out to be a nice, warm, dry handshake, “Any friend of Miles is a friend of mine. Call me Ted. Speaking of which,” his attention darts back to her boss, “what on Earth is it going to take to get you to call me Ted? Come on, you’ve been coming here for years, you’re like family!”
The Middleman grins bashfully at Ted’s words and the hand clapped on his shoulder. “I always appreciate your welcoming attitude- Ted.” The man practically vibrates with joy. “Company inspectors don’t often receive such kind treatment.”
“Hey, the way I see it, you’re doing us a favor. Weeding out the bad apples, keeping us on our toes- we wouldn’t be half as productive without you arou-”
“Dyson,” a cold voice hisses from behind Ted. His mouth snaps shut. An imperious blonde woman approaches them, her eyes two glittering slits of animosity.
“Hello, Miss Palmer, I hope you’re having a pleasant day.”
“I was, until our cameras picked you up. All set to barge into our workday and throw your weight around? Didn’t you do enough damage last time? The progress we could’ve made with that compound-”
“Might have led to the disintegration of the world’s cellulose,” the Middleman interrupts firmly.
“There was only an eleven percent probability of that!” she snaps, “We were working on it!”
“Easy, Veronica,” Ted says, holding up his hands and being sure to make eye-contact with the irate woman, “Miles is just doing his job here. And the sooner he can get on with it, the sooner he can leave, right?”
Veronica nods grudgingly, beginning to deflate.
“I don’t think you’ve met Miles’ associate,” Ted continues. Wendy wants to kick him. “Veronica, this is Andy Goode. Andy, Veronica is the head of this division of Veridian.”
Wendy mentally goes through the steps of Two-Fingered Asp Strike as Veronica surveys her like a black mold stain, “You’re multiplying. Yippee.” Her frown turns curious, “Andy Goode... that name’s familiar. How do I know it? An internship? Fundraiser? Class-action lawsuit?”
“Uh, none of the above?” Plant right foot behind, adjust the angle, bring fist to waist, fingers straight...
Veronica sniffs, her interest clearly expended, “I suppose there’s no getting rid of you, Dyson, so we might as well get it over with. Not unlike syphilis. Keep an eye on them, Ted.” She glides away, leaving Ted to smile awkwardly this time.
“She’ll come around sooner or later,” he says.
“Just after the pigs take off, I assume,” the Middleman replies. The two men laugh, and Wendy boggles. She’s never seen her boss act so much like a regular guy. She wonders if he likes being Miles Dyson: Veridian inspector, enemy of Veronica Palmer, friend of Ted Crisp.
“Well, time’s wasting,” Ted announces, “I’ll take you two down to the labs and you can get started.”
They descend into the bowels of Veridian Dynamics. The labs are very well-lit and clean, cluttered with a colorful variety of equipment. Bubbling flasks, glass tubes, things in jars in large cabinets- the works. People in white coats don’t take much notice of the new arrivals beyond a few scattered “Hey, Ted”s which are promptly returned.
He stops one of them, “Everett, have you seen Phil? Miles Dyson’s here to talk with him.”
The scientist’s eyes flick from Ted to the Middleman and Wendy to all around the lab. “Uh, no. Sorry. Maybe he’s at lunch?”
“Now, Everett, we both know that’s not true,” Ted says, voice slipping into a practiced fatherly tone, “Phil’s views on eggplant casserole have been well documented. Come on, where is he?”
Everett continues to squirm until another scientist steps up behind him and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, man,” he murmurs. Everett gives him a grateful smile before fleeing.
Ted shifts his attention to the newcomer, “Lem, can you tell me where Phil is?”
“In a minute, Ted,” Lem replies, “Also, hello.” He turns to the Middleman, “So, back again, Mister Dyson?” Something about the way he says her boss’ cover name makes Wendy frown.
The Middleman shrugs casually, “Just doing my job, Doctor Hewitt.”
“Phil was pretty sore about the compound last time. Wouldn’t so much as hypothesize for a week.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but Doctor Mymen knows the rules. As do you. May I speak with him?”
Lem gives him a hard look, but cocks his head once and walks away. Ted excuses himself to go back upstairs, and Wendy and her boss follow Lem to an empty office. “You wait in here,” he tells the Middleman. “You wait out here,” he tells Wendy.
“Now, Doctor Hewitt,” the Middleman says, “Miss Goode is going to be my replacement in the future. She must become acquainted with the process.”
Lem just shakes his head, “Not today. Later, maybe, but not this time.”
The Middleman takes a step closer. His voice is lowered as he asks, “Is he really that out of sorts?”
Deep-seated pain fills Lem’s face. “I... It’s probably a good thing you’re here.”
“I understand.” The Middleman turns to Wendy, “Miss Goode, if you wouldn’t mind waiting in the lab, this shouldn’t take long.”
“Yeah, sure, boss.” Lem walks away, and Wendy grabs the Middleman’s lapel and drags him close enough to whisper harshly, “Exactly how many people in here know who we really are?”
“Maintain your composure, Dubby, everything is well in hand. Veridian has a tendency to bring on scientific minds of... questionable stability. Minds members of the Middle-organization have had contact with in one capacity or another over time. Besides, the grape vine here is more like Jack’s beanstalk- our secret could hardly stay such forever.”
“Okay, explain to me why they haven’t all been shipped off to Greenland like Eleanor.”
“Because they’re less dangerous to themselves and others here. The higher echelons of Veridian Dynamics are not wholly unaware of the existence of the Middleman, and are perfectly aware of the risk assumed upon hiring these individuals. Their facilities are secure, their ability to contain potential incidents is impeccable, and whenever we like, we are allowed come in and make certain the high-risk cases stay on the wagon. All in all, it’s a goshdarned beneficial partnership, Dubby, and one I hope will continue after I’m gone.”
Wendy grimaces automatically at the thought of what will have to precede her assuming the role of Middleman, but dutifully says, “All right, boss, message received.”
“Glad to hear it.” He straightens in time to see Lem return with Phil in tow, one hand on his arm. Phil’s round eyes are cast down, but he manages to glance up and quirk a smile for the Middleman.
“Good morning, Doctor Mymen. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Hello, Mister Dyson. Let’s... let’s get this... show on the road. We’ve got a lot of work to do today.”
“I don’t doubt it.” The Middleman moves to the office’s door, “After you.”
They walk in and shut the door behind them, leaving Wendy and Lem outside in the lab. The scientist pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “Uh, I hope you aren’t offended... or anything. It’s just... it’s a personal thing, these, uh, meetings...”
Wendy lifts a hand, “Don’t worry about it.” She sighs, bracing an arm on one hip and shifting her weight onto one leg.
Lem rocks on his feet, hands clasped behind his back. “Could I, uh, interest you in an experimental energy patch? We’ve worked out, like, ninety-nine percent of the kinks.”
“No thanks.”
“Fair enough.” Another silent moment. “Could I ask you something?”
“I guess...”
“How would you feel about a dinner plate that cooks your food for you?”
“How would it do that?”
“By bursting into flames. We call it the plove- part plate, part stove. Pretty cool, huh?”
Wendy sighs again, and checks her watch.
***
Twenty-three minutes and twelve seconds later, Veronica watches Miles Dyson and Andy Goode leave Veridian Dynamics on the closed circuit cameras. She’s waiting for the right moment.
“Freeze image,” she says, and the camera pauses, just as Dyson faces the lens. “Send image through the face-matching search engine.” A cheery boop sounds and Dyson’s face dissolves artfully into the software. New images begin to pop up. Mostly security videos, but also various ID badges that have been logged into buildings’ scanners. They’re all from different, obscure government departments and businesses, and they all have names on them that aren’t Miles Dyson. “I knew it,” Veronica murmurs, eyes narrowing.
Suddenly, the search stops. The screen wavers, and winks out. One small window appears in the black. It’s a video feed, showing a matronly woman with frizzy brown hair and a hideously multi-colored dress. She’s filing her nails and looks up only to shoot Veronica a withering glare. “That’s enough snooping for you, princess.”
“Who are you? What are you doing in my software?”
“Ask your bosses, though I won’t be held responsible for the consequences.”
The window closes, and when Veronica can get her computer to turn on again, the face-matching search engine program is gone, as if it never existed.