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“Hello Doctor Ares, Electra,” the Head introduces herself with a polite ease which belies the strangeness of seeing her out here, in the world. I never imagined her in any context outside her office, or the facility where she reigns supreme. Out here, she is simultaneously so much more and so much less. Other diners don’t even look up from their meals. They don’t notice her. To the average person, she is just an average person. Electra has gone white as a sheet. She’s clutching at the table cloth with one hand, her fingers inching toward her steak knife with the other. I reach out and cover her stabbing hand with my own, hoping the gesture calms her down.
“It’s okay,” I murmur to Electra before directing a friendly smile at the Head. “How are you, Ms…”
I blank. I should know what to call her, but I can’t call her the Head out here in this civilian space.
“… Smith,” the Head smiles.
“Of course. Ms Smith.”
The woman’s eyes run over me briefly, then settle on Electra.
“Would you like to join us?” The offer is made out of polite obligation, nothing more.
“I’m afraid I can’t say long,” the Head says with a crystal cool smile. “And neither can Electra.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean there’s a job to be done, and it is time for you to do it.”
“But I’m out for dinner.” Electra’s lower lip trembles.
“You’ll have to have dinner another time. Your country needs you.”
“Fuck my country,” she growls.
I’m not happy about this either, but the last thing we need right now is an outburst. This, I think, is a test. It isn’t fair, but when has the Head played fair? When has she ever bothered to make her agenda clear?
“I don’t think this is an appropriate…”
“What you think is not the matter at hand,” the Head interrupts me briskly. She extends a hand across the table. “Come along, dear. We need you.”
I look into Electra’s eyes and catch a flash of her thoughts. She wants to stab the Head right through her hand and pin it to the table. It’s a bloody image, transmitted with gruesome clarity. Times like this, I’d swear we have a telepathic bond, but really telepathy is just knowing what someone else is thinking, and I know Electra well enough to know what kind of brutal reckoning she has in mind.
“No,” I say gently. Not to Electra. To the Head.
“Doctor Ares.”
“No,” I repeat, this time speaking to the Head. “This is downtime. She’s not at your beck and call. She cannot be and stay sane.”
“Your concerns are noted.”
“Madam, this is a restaurant.”
Her gray eyes narrow at me. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the significance of that statement, Doctor Ares.”
“I think you understand it clearly enough.” This is not her compound. She does not rule over us here. Not over Electra, and certainly not over me.
“This is insubordination, Doctor Ares.”
“It’s impossible to be insubordinate over appetizers.” I wink at Electra, who lets out a nervous giggle and turns her hand in mine so she is holding my hand.
Electra
He’s standing up for me. He knows there will be consequences for this. The Head looks angry, in such a satisfying way. I have always wanted to see her off-balance, something other than perfectly composed, but I never thought I would. She’s always in control of absolutely everything. Everybody in her life answers to her. She holds the power of life and death, and she never lets anyone forget it.
But Tom is right. She can’t bring that pressure to bear here, in public. Not without making a scene, and that is the last thing she wants to do.
“You’re welcome to join us for dinner,” he says, extending the invitation again.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” a waitress stops behind the Head with a tray full of soup plates. There’s an impatient expression on her face, a disdain which fills my dark little heart with joy. I like seeing the Head treated like an Ordinary Person. She always seems larger than life, a small god in her domain. But Tom is right, the world is so much bigger than her, and her facility.
I suddenly feel free. Intoxicatingly free. A laugh bubbles to my lips and I don’t stop it. I let it emerge, though it sounds strange to my unpracticed ears, like the hooting of an animal more than any human expression.
The Head shoots me a look so hard the laughter dies on my lips. She is angry.
“I will speak with both of you tomorrow,” she says. “Prepare yourselves for consequences.”
“Prepare yourselves for consequences,” I smirk, copying her voice as she stalks away. “Consequences will never be the same.”
Tom smiles, but it’s a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s gotten very still and very serious.
“Do you regret telling her no?”
“No,” he says. “It had to be said.”
