"You realised you're proposing to rob gold from the sarcophagus, didn't you?" Gema chortled. The usual gang of Prattle main team, devoid of Val for reasons known to Gema and Stephanie only, gathered in their internet meeting room. That was, only two accounts were present: Stephanie's and Annisa's, as the former sat together with Gema in their Prattle meeting room. With the broken AC that neither of them followed up for weeks.
"What kind of metaphor is that? Your brain is amazing but that pisses me off that you still have the brainpower to do that while I'm rather drained here."
"Because your idea literally springboards from taking money from dead people who can't complain. It's . . . do you think it's worse than Robin Hood?" he asked Annisa who rolled her eyes watching the exchange.
Gema pressed on, "Your morality . . ."
"Please don't talk about moral compasses here as I've had enough criticism about mine today."
Annisa tried to see it from a different angle. Stephanie's mind was an analysis material if she were honest. "But, seriously, though, it's an out of the box thinking. Like a genius. Or a desperate."
"Takes a thin line to separate them." The analysis object in question shrugged.
Gema huffed, an inkling of pride reflected in his happy face. "So we go with the plan, Boss?"
"I'm not your boss and I don't like being called such."
"So we go with the plan, S? Meaning, you'll sacrifice me to go with you to the Commerce people this Thursday?"
"Who else? Obviously, Annisa can't walk with me and it's not her expertise."
But Gema still found it in him to tease her some more. "In case you've forgotten, I'm not a number cruncher, either."
"You did the Python calculation to generate the data we need."
"Based on your input and assumptions."
He still denied it. Stephanie didn't know why he needed to avoid the task, though. "Val is a much better person in this than me. Or you don't need us actually. Do your SQL magic and spreadsheet fiesta."
"Python is faster."
SQL is a language to extract data from the database and Python is a programming language.
Annisa, the big sister she was, tried to redirect their focus back to the task at hand. "You guys, there's nothing to lose, is there? Why don't you both go knock on the door and see if they let you in?"
"Nothing at stake, correct. They'll just attribute it to our madness. As another in the series of dimwit decisions we made after refusing to participate in the Immune certification."
A weak ping woke Stephanie's phone from sleep. She opened the text message, giggled, and then put the phone down, screen facing the table.
"That's not an email notification or a session request either, is it?" Annisa chirped with her raised chin, eyeing suspiciously.
Gema watched Annisa's face journey on-screen, then his head flew back to the lady sitting next to him, then his face also went through a similar revelation as his brain seemed to draw a conclusion. Stephanie continued with another topic, oblivious to silent acknowledgement on her colleagues' faces.
~*~
"You don't need to come here," Val said, plopping himself on a slab of a wall, low enough to sit on. Both of them were in the safe house, assessing its final state before delivering Aluna there.
"This smells way nicer than before. I know you would see to it," she evaded the question. The paint smell had evaporated.
"You don't need to see me, Steph. I don't know why you took the high road. You should've come home after wrapping up your meeting."
"You didn't join the meeting."
He slumped his head. "I said myself that you should remove me from Prattle portfolio. I figured you must be angry and I don't want to push my luck with you. With the way you usually think, you've thought ten steps ahead, foreseeing me ruining the whole industry of companionship."
So he wasn't angry anymore, Stephanie figured. And she came here to offer the olive branch, too.
"I'm sorry I was rude," she hung her head in shame. "I was afraid. My fear breeds anger because of the helplessness; the darkness and murky water that surrounds me. I shouldn't have let myself lash out to hurt you, sorry."
"After this," he took a deep breath, patting Stephanie's shoulder. "After this, if you need to kick me out, please do so. If you want to stop being my friend, be my guest. I only need your protection until Aluna moves in. But after that, I'll remove myself from your business."
"Val," she moved closer, pressing her fingers on his arm, "I won't stop being your friend. You've had your own reasons and you don't need to tell me. But in my eyes and principle, it's a mistake. But we'll protect Aluna, she deserves it," she smiled bitterly.
"Thank you. Thank you, S," he held her hands.
Val closed his eyes and inhaled.
A soft smile slipped from his lips. "I don't want my action to go without consequences. For the problem I've caused, and for the safety net you guys are brewing, you can give me tasks you don't want to do yourself. I can make myself extinct to, I don't know, Ujung Kulon."
She slapped his arm gently. "Let's see what I can do, I don't want to crunch the numbers alone. Need a second pair of eyes."
A ping of notification broke her focus.
She took her phone out gently, and a soft pout broke free on her lips.
Val flashed a series of white teeth.
"My eyes see it clearly. You're happier now, and I can only guess the reason. Not an object, but a human."
~*~
Stephanie was back in that cosy home of Pak Maryono. She glanced around at the homely interior and now stately backyard. Someone must have been sent to clean it up.
"Thank you again for the green chilli paste. I managed to freeze it after you left our second session. I treasure it dearly. Still have some to cook some chicken with." He showed the remaining paste inside a plastic jar, a container of peanut butter long gone.
"Glad it freezes well. I'll tell Gema after this. He's probably gonna be eager to send you his craft weekly."
Pak Maryono waved his hand with a genuine laugh that tugged at Stephanie's heartstrings to hear and watch that.
"No no no. I don't want to ask for more from your people. You've done enough."
The corner of her lips twitched.
"I mean, as Companions and Immune people, you guys have done enough to carry the society. I know some Protected people are still working at home, but they're not gonna hold important posts like the Immune who are out there, doing meaningful work."
"Well, it doesn't work that way actually, Pak. Each job is meaningful when we look at the whole picture of our kind. Everyone's gotta do something to contribute. Staying at home is part of your responsibility, too."
"But humans are not made to be locked inside."
What can I do about it, she thought. "No, we're not."
"As hard as it is to accept, my son's rebellion is justified."
No, it wasn't, she thought. Especially after what he'd done.
"I see the backyard is pristine again," she drifted the conversation somewhere she would be more comfortable with.
"Once a month cleaning crew, remember? One of them was just like you. A calming presence. Talking to me for almost half an hour after their job was done. He lost a family member, too. His sister."
They spent good twenty minutes talking about everything else. It always felt good to catch subtle gleams in an elderly's eyes when they reminisced the past.
One hour passed by without notice. She put on her jacket back and readied her umbrella as the thunder rumbled in a distance. Maryono was about to send her off after she accepted his offer on a poetry book. A collection of poems that sounded and felt more real, according to him. Literary but still felt practical. She accepted it gratefully.
"So, any news about my son?" he asked as his hand unlocked the gate.
Stephanie's feet stopped dead on her track. As she turned slowly to face the host bodily, she put on her most neutral expression. The crow feet branching from Pak Maryono's steely eyes would fail to disarm her.
She could say she saw it on the news.
She could add the fact that the guy staged an ambush, exactly on the lookout in the vicinity of Stephanie's residence.
She could tell the father that his son was nothing more than a thug, a hooligan of an organised crime gang called the Lawless so why should he still defend him and justify his actions?
In the end, all the racing thoughts came to a halt. There was only silence in her brain.
She pressed her lips into a tight line. "No, Pak, nothing caught on to me."
By the time the words were born to this world, etched into Pak Maryono's memory, she knew she made a grave mistake.
It was not her first lie in the world, but it sure was the one bearing the heaviest consequence. Sooner or later, she should come clean and confess.
~*~
"Frankly, I don't know if that's clever enough to slither in, or I'm just too old and tired to shut people out. Your texts sounded so urgent, so I was worried that I could only be available today, and now you've been starving," she chuckled as moving away from the hallway, letting Mark in.
"No no, I made do. I'm sorry, but I didn't do it with ill intent. I really don't know how to cook many recipes people put on the internet. I thought I could ask around."
But you've only got me, she heard it unspoken.
"So what is it? You want to cook fried rice like Gema?"
He shook his head slowly. "I know how to do it. But I don't want to eat fried rice every day until this pandemic is bored with us."
She gave him a thinking look. "What about the Youtube videos? Or what people posted on Instagram, or Tiktok? They do all sorts of recipes there."
"Watching isn't the same as doing it. I've got some kitchen stuff on me. Veggies, chicken cutlets, it looks intimidating."
"You're intimidated by a dead animal?"
"So are you if you've spent half of your life in prison and now you've gotta cook or die."
"Whoa, okay, noted, got it. No need to emphasise it."
"Sorry. Please," he said.
A pang of sorrow engulfed her. "Thank you," she said.
"What for?"
"No, it's just a joke. I mean, the three magic words. Four actually. It goes that the pleases, sorries, and thank-yous are the words . . . Never mind," she cut her off when the joke looked like flew over Mark's head.
She didn't miss the upturn of one of the corners of his mouth, though.
"I don't get it, but, you got me."
She ignored her warming cheeks as both of them unpacked the shopping bag that Mark carried to her flat.
"How do you do all of this?"
"Do what?"
His hand flew in the general direction. "Prattling."
"Prattling," she parroted.
"I noticed some of the apps cannot be downloaded. But yours, Visit, some other social media, they slid into my phone without fuss."
"Because we're Safe. I mention this with 'S' in capital if written down. Not many apps get this status."
And hopefully it would still be 'S' even after everything that went down between Val and Aluna came to Aluna's husband's attention.
When Mark gestured her to go on, she went on.
"Information is controlled by the government here. You know, amidst the budding outbreak three years ago, there was another outbreak toppling the structure of our community. The misinformation and disinformation. Hoaxes spread like wildfire. It was total hell for the government to ensure their people that the vaccine was underway."
"Is that the cause of the sovereignty collapses?"
"Partly, yes. It left a bitter taste in everyone's mouth, so we don't really talk about it. But you're new here, and I have no desire to withhold the correct information from you, I'm your Companion after all."
"What happened? Staged coup?"
"Here and there. Chaos. Those who stayed at home stayed, but those who believed another thing flooded the streets, burned tyres and such, demanding the government to really do their jobs."
"People died because of the sedition, too?"
"Civil unrest. It's wrong to call it sedition since the UN was glad to take over, efficiently restructuring the whole world on top of people's blood and rage. Hence, the Unified Global Government in Den Haag, with the so-called Council in each region. A region is not necessarily equal to a country. In our case, it is, but smaller countries aggregate into one regional government."
"But why is the vaccine not here yet? Or, do we still need a vaccine? You know, what with the remaining a quarter of people."
She shrugged. "Not my place to say. It's . . . my ex's job. Consulting and such, the task force of Big Change."