"Have you decided? Changed your mind? Or is it the same?"
She looked at him confusedly. Only after following his eyes to the laptop on the table did she understand. She had the answer, but she didn't voice it immediately. No. She thought again. Seriously. Arrived at the same answer. And so voiced it with even more certainty. "Yes. It's the same. I want revenge. And I want to do it with my own hands."
He nodded. And continued.
The last couple of days had been a blur, to her. On the outside it, they, were neat. The two of them were on the upper deck, the laptop on the table in front of them. The inside was a whole other thing. A mess would be an understatement. A maze the size of the largest forest in the whole wide world. The trees, the undergrowth and the animals acting as natural walls, there were even the man-made obstacles set up by the one who created the maze. There was so much information, about all sorts of things. She was just a bit rusty. Three years off the streets, off the job, did that to you. She had slowed. But she hadn't lost the knack. She quickly caught on. Within half a day she was as good as her prime. By the second day, she was even better. A good motivation did help. Her head was finally serving its purpose. She had never needed to be this comfortable with information.
She was a broker. This was her thing. But he was even better at it that she was. He was like a broker rolled into a merchant. She felt like she had gotten a glimpse at the difference between a merchant in today's sense and a merchant in the ancient sense. A little later when she realized he wasn't only sorting through the information but also drawing plans of action, she was terrified. Her faith was once again affirmed – do not mess with merchants. No, that wasn't enough. Do not mess around on the dark side. Period.
At the start of the third day, he gave her a tablet with all of the same information. He needed the laptop. He needed the keyboard. Only then, with the tablet in her hand, did she realize what was so different about the laptop. It was thicker than most laptops she'd seen. And not because it was from an ancient time when there was so much that had to be squeezed into the body and so the laptop could be only so thin. It was a modern laptop, with a high definition screen, packing some real power under the hood. The performance screamed of it. What then was it? As she saw his fingers dancing almost invisible over the keyboard, as she heard him hit the keys, she understood. It was a mechanical keyboard. Not the thin or ultra thin keys designed specifically for laptops, but a full and proper mechanical keyboard. No wonder. The laptop had to be thick to accommodate that keyboard. The continuous clicking was like a song. She let herself enjoy it for as long as she could, without losing her senses. Because she knew what came next.
She had committed pretty much everything in the tablet to memory. She'd attended a seminar in school. She was in grade 4 and the seminar was for grades 10, 11 and 12. Memory mapping, it was called. A renowned psychologist who also specialized in memory and the technique of memory mapping had accepted the school's invitation to teach some of the fundamental techniques to the students. The primary goal was to help the students study better, prepare better for exams. The secondary goal, and one that no one placed much hope or importance on, was helping the students for life. Memory mapping required effort. The techniques weren't as easy to learn as they seemed at first glance. The best the school hoped was for at least ten percent of the students to learn at least a little. That would suffice. The psychologist, a man in his forties who proudly announced his age because he looked much younger, like a man in the late twenties, was happy to address the students even as he accepted that it wouldn't be of any real help. Some of the younger students, who were free because their teachers were attending the seminar as well and were allowed to do as pleased, joined the seminar. Macy had attended the seminar because she didn't want to play with her classmates who didn't want to play with her either. She listened with an open mind and absorbed every word the psychologist spoke. When he asked the students to try, after he'd explained each of the techniques, she found none of them difficult. That only increased her eagerness. She found that she had a gift for it. A wonderful head, that was what the psychologist called it when he discussed those rare people who could absorb these and other more advanced techniques with ease. Macy liked that she had a wonderful head. She never stopped practising. So, by the time she graduated school, she was an expert at memory mapping – the technique she loved most. That afternoon in grade 4 was her first step toward her growing into a broker.
She didn't draw the connections yet, at least not beyond what they had already discussed. She could see that there were obviously a lot of connections to be made. But she waited. Looking at Addy work, she felt inspired and also a bit daunted. She had accepted his help, had commissioned him. So she would follow his lead.
The wait wasn't very long. She was silent as he communicated with others, as he worked. A little more than a day. And he was ready.
"Have you fired a gun?"
She looked at him confused. But answered honestly. "No. Never had the need or the desire."
"It'll be a first," he said simply. And explained the plan.