Chapter 137. A Very Expensive Employee

“I felt like none of that crazy business with the Awakened and the draft had ever happened. Everything was just like it used to be.”

Mom turned off the TV as the end credits rolled on another episode of CSI. The screen went dark, leaving the living room in semidarkness broken only by the soft glow of the floor lamp. She looked at me with the faintly amused irony of someone who had seen me in diapers and knew exactly how my mind worked.

“If we’re having a nostalgia night, maybe we should wash the dishes together, too? Like the good old days.”

“There are only two plates,” I said, surveying the remains of our dinner. “And a couple of forks. Our conversation at the sink won’t last long.”

“They still need to be washed,” she declared, rising from the couch with a grace that was hard to expect from someone who had still been complaining about her joints six months ago. “I hardly ever see you anymore. You’re always off in Washington, and when you do come home, you shut yourself away in those four walls. Come on. At least stand next to me for a few minutes without that look on your face that says, ‘I’m saving national security.’”

Arguing with Maggie Ross in her own apartment was a losing proposition from the start. Any accountant could tell you that some expenses are easier to accept than to challenge in court.

Mom meticulously scrubbed the forks with a special kitchen brush, polishing the metal to a flawless mirror shine. I stood at her right with a linen towel, taking each washed dish and drying it thoroughly. A division of labor perfected over years of living together.

“You mentioned this was a nostalgia night,” I said, taking another plate from her and feeling the lingering warmth of the water against my fingers. “Do you really want things to go back to the way they were? Before I was drafted into the Corps?”

“That’s a strange question, Tom. You already know the answer,” she said, holding a fork up to the light and inspecting the tines for the slightest streak. Unsatisfied, she went over them with the brush again. “On the one hand, I’m young again. I have a healthy body and a life I used to be able to find only in the most naive novels. What more could a retired cook ask for at this stage of her life? But there’s one thing from the past that I can’t get back. Stability.”

She paused, turned off the water, and faced me.

“I used to know exactly where you were. You’d be sitting in your office, balancing debits and credits, and at six in the evening your car would pull into the driveway. Your biggest risk was heartburn from cheap vending-machine coffee. And now? You disappear without warning, then show up on the doorstep with a chest full of trophies and stories that would turn a normal person’s hair gray.”

“That’s the nature of my organization,” I said, carefully placing the dried plate in the dish rack. “Control over my own schedule is a luxury I lost the day I got my draft notice. If the red light comes on and I’m ordered to be on the runway in two hours for a flight to Bogotá to shut down a portal, I’ll just grab my duffel bag and get on the plane.”

“I understand all that,” Mom said quietly, wiping her perfectly clean hands on the edge of her apron. “I understand, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“If it helps at all from a probability-theory standpoint, Los Angeles freeway accident statistics consistently rank among the highest in the country. The lifetime risk of becoming disabled simply by driving to the supermarket is mathematically comparable to the threat level of a green-level portal.”

Maggie shook her head, and a warm, slightly weary amusement flickered in her eyes. “You really know how to make someone feel better, Tom. Just like always. Your dry pragmatism is something else.”

She stepped closer and placed her dry, strong hands on my shoulders. Her fingers tightened with noticeable strength, a physical reminder that my mother’s biological age now barely exceeded twenty, even though her eyes still belonged to a woman with a lifetime of experience.

“All right. I won’t work myself up, and I won’t work you up, either. I never wanted my son to have a career as a soldier, but if the government decided otherwise, we’ll adapt. I can’t go into a portal with you and hand you ammunition, but I can make sure this house stays a place where you don’t have to keep your guard up. You can always count on me. One hundred percent.”

There wasn’t a trace of theatrical drama in her voice, only the dry, absolute loyalty you usually saw in people who had been through a couple of wars with you. I could feel the familiar tension draining from my shoulders.

There were too few safe places in my life. The Corps of the Awakened was a beehive of hidden directives, bureaucrats, and dangerous schemers. But here, in this kitchen, everything was completely straightforward. I’d told her about the draft right away, but I’d kept my destination from her until now. It was time to settle that debt.

“Mom. If you’ve got a couple of minutes, let’s sit down and have a real conversation.”

“I’ve got plenty of time. It’s your question that surprises me,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she gave me a careful once-over. “I’m not the one who scheduled our day down to the minute. And you extended that military schedule to me, too.”

“The schedule really is tight,” I said, folding my hands behind my back. My face remained impassive. “Still, we need to take a break. There are some things you need to know.”

“Oh, Tom... Drop the pragmatic tone, will you? I’m just teasing,” she sighed, smoothing her perfect platinum hair with a familiar gesture. “Of course. Let’s talk.”

The kitchen table was still covered with food containers. Having a serious conversation within arm’s reach of unnecessary distractions was inefficient. It would only scatter my attention.

“Let’s move to the living room,” I suggested, taking a step toward the doorway.

“Oh, wait!” Maggie immediately perked up, taking charge again. “If this is a serious conversation, we need proper tea. I’ll put the kettle on.”

“That’s not necessary,” I called after her. “The conversation won’t take long.”

“That’s what you think,” came her steady, no-nonsense voice from the kitchen. I heard the familiar click of the electric kettle switching on, followed by the clink of porcelain. “Besides, after that many carbohydrates, the body needs hot liquid to digest everything properly.”

“Mom, our physiology after the Evolution could digest nails. We don’t need to worry about digestion.”

“I know what my body needs, Tom,” she shot back.

Arguing was pointless. When it came to tea, Maggie Ross was phenomenally, almost fanatically particular. No supermarket tea bags filled with dust. Only whole-leaf blends, precisely measured herbs, and water heated to exactly the right temperature. Back then, she had visited every specialty shop in Los Angeles until she had assembled the perfect blend of thyme, mint, and some rare Chinese tea. Sometimes, watching the elegance and meticulousness with which she conducted these tea ceremonies for our neighbors, I found myself wondering whether some high-ranking British butler had somehow ended up in her family tree.

“Okay, now I’m ready.” Maggie carefully set two porcelain cups on the polished surface of the coffee table. The rich, slightly tart aroma of bergamot, mint, and dried thyme immediately filled the air. “Go ahead.”

“Official notice of my assignment came in yesterday.”

She froze with the silver teaspoon in her hand, then slowly lowered it into her cup. The clink of metal against porcelain sounded unexpectedly sharp.

“And you’ve been keeping quiet for almost a whole day?” Her voice carried the dry, well-practiced reproach of a mother. “In case you’ve forgotten, I worry about you, too.”

“You went straight to bed after training yesterday,” I replied evenly, taking a cautious sip. The tea was at the perfect temperature. “I told you as soon as I had the chance.”

“All right, don’t keep me waiting.” Maggie leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her eyes gleamed with the curiosity of someone who had just watched a detective show all the way to the final reveal. “So where did they assign you? Are you going to wear a holster and hunt down Awakened criminals?”

“That’s part of it.”

“Great!”

“And I’ve also been assigned to the Corps’ other seven departments.”

“What?” Her expression changed instantly. The irony gave way to deep bewilderment. “How does that work?”

I explained the essentials of my new contract without any unnecessary emotion. In practical terms, Corps administration had decided to squeeze every possible advantage out of my unique ability by dividing my shifts among every existing branch, from intelligence and assault units to logistical support.

“Those bureaucratic parasites!” Maggie slammed her cup onto its saucer so hard that tea splashed over the rim. “The second they realized the kid could work at full capacity, they dumped the entire national debt on your shoulders! Give me the address for this General Crowley of yours. I’ll write to him myself and explain exactly why exploiting personnel on this scale violates every conceivable standard. And if that army stiff doesn’t listen, I’ll send a request to the Senate committee and the president’s office myself!”

There was something strangely heartwarming about watching Mom prepare to wage war on the highest levels of the U.S. military just to protect my work schedule. Instead of launching into a lengthy explanation, I pulled my smartphone from my pants pocket, unlocked the screen, and handed her the open text notification from the finance department.

“What’s this?” She adjusted her thin-framed glasses and squinted at the illuminated screen.

“My base monthly salary.”

“Four hundred and fifty thousand...?” She stopped, looking from the screen to me and back again. “A month?”

“Exactly. That’s the base salary, before hazard pay and combat deployment bonuses. And under Article Three of the Awakened Status Act, the entire amount is exempt from both federal and state taxes.”

Mom was silent for about three seconds. Her eyes traveled over the line of numbers again, then she slowly leaned back against the couch, carefully smoothing the creases in her pants.

“You know, Tom... General Crowley seems like a pretty sensible and competent commander after all,” she said in a perfectly even tone, instantly replacing anger with approval. “You can tell he understands the value of highly qualified specialists and knows how to motivate his people.”

“I reached the same conclusion when I analyzed the compensation structure.”

“Listen...” Maggie narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her knee. “What are the rules for civilians? Maybe I should apply to join the Corps, too. I’m in perfect physical shape right now, and my health is better than it’s ever been. Tax breaks like that don’t exactly grow on trees.”

“Those financial terms apply only to field operatives with confirmed S-Power,” I said, killing her economic plan. “Administrative and technical personnel are paid according to standard civil-service pay scales.”

“You can stop right there.” Mom shook her head in disappointment. “Working for the government without the full package of benefits would be financially foolish. Every American knows that if you don’t get the perks, you go into the private sector. At least there, the market determines the profit margin.”

She finished the rest of her tea, set the empty cup on the tray, and leaned her head back against the soft couch cushion. “Can you make me Awakened?”

She asked it lightly, almost as an afterthought, but my internal processor immediately shut down all background thoughts and switched to calculating the possibilities.

In theory, yes. My current control over biological tissue allowed me not only to restructure cells, but also to modify them so that the body could begin detecting and accumulating external S-Power. Creating a second familiar with unique abilities would significantly increase my overall combat and tactical effectiveness.

But on the other side of the equation were the cold facts: the person sitting in front of me was not some nameless test subject. She was the only person whose safety had absolute priority for me.

“Becoming Awakened would automatically strip you of your civilian protections,” I said sharply, carefully tracking the slightest change in her expression. “They’d put you in the reserve and send you into combat zones under alien fire. You wouldn’t have the right to refuse.”

“Figures.” She shrugged casually, completely unfazed. “Don’t worry about it, Tom. It was just a hypothetical question.”

As far as she was concerned, the subject was closed. In my head, however, a serious analytical process had already begun. I added the option to my contingency protocol. There was no practical reason to do it now. The additional risk to her outweighed any possible benefit. But if the global situation on Earth began to deteriorate, forcibly Awakening Mom would become my primary tool for ensuring her survival.

“I told you this conversation would take more than five minutes.” Mom got up from the couch with a triumphant smile, picked up the tray of cups, and headed for the kitchen. “Is that all your news, or are there any other surprises?”

“That concludes the official portion.” I got up after her and instinctively took my usual position by the sink to wash the dishes. “But I need your advice on a domestic matter.”

“You know I’m always here for you.” She gave me a slight sidelong look as she turned on the faucet. “Although doesn’t that violate your ridiculously packed schedule? You said yourself you have to report to the base in six days.”

“The schedule has been optimized,” I explained, taking the washed porcelain cup from her. “I’ll continue my personal training regimen at the facility. Your training won’t require much time. Your hand-to-hand combat fundamentals are already at a high level, and you’ll have the cooking routines committed to muscle memory within half a day at most.”

“It’s nice to see that my son has everything calculated down to the second,” she remarked with mild approval. “So what kind of help do you need?”

“I need some advice. I currently have half a million dollars sitting in my account. I’m considering buying property in the capital district.”