Why Wait Tell Tomorrow, When You Can Make Things Explode Today? Part One

   As the head of S.A.F.E Edith Caralie doesn’t have much free time. Most spare moments are used in the pursuit of sleep, or spent scrubbing strange gunk out of her hair. She isn’t supposed to be an active field agent anymore, not since Merit dumped the organization in her lap months ago, but habits are hard to break, and it’s habit go stop the bad guys with action movie violence, not only using her wits and organizational skills.
    It’s just that they’re so understaffed. Almost a third of active agents retired either shortly before, or in the wake of Merit’s departure, and she hasn’t gotten around to hiring on anyone new. Tomorrow, she thinks briefly before closing her eyes. I’ll bring it up at the meeting tomorrow, and shortly thereafter she is asleep.

    S.A.F.E., which she had been told stands for Safety And Freedom Enterprises, is here to save the world. Its exact origins are murky, and no one is positive what the acronym really means, but since at least the early 20th century S.A.F.E. has been the worlds first line of defense. Driving off demons, negotiating with aliens, and holding override codes for all of the world’s nuclear missiles; S.A.F.E. has seen it all.
    The next morning at breakfast she tells Oliver that barring some potentially catastrophic interruption she’d like to see him in her office later on. He appears to be mostly asleep, but the reliable psychic Piper nods to her, so the order will get passed along.
    In the office there is paperwork. It hurts her very soul. A secretary will be her first hiring, she swears. She looks up protocol on acquiring underlings, and there is an old paper covered in typewriter letters annotated by Merit’s messy scrawl. It is utterly indecipherable. Well then, damn it, she can do whatever she wants. That’s the S.A.F.E. way: if you don’t like, or know, or care about the way things are meant to be done, make something up. It’s fine as long as you file the proper paperwork explaining your actions after the fact.

    Oliver has issues with authority. That’s what lead him to steal a cursed silver goblet inlaid with rubies, which is what brought him to S.A.F.E.’s attention to begin with. Ed’s cool and all, they’ve been friends for years now, and she could kick his ass, but still: authority. So, not cool. So it is with apprehension, and an abundance of caffeine running in his veins that he heads up to Merit’s-- EDITH’S office. 
    He knocks, but doesn’t wait, letting himself in. He slouches into the chair in front of the grand desk. “What do you want?” He asks.
    “I want our operations to be running at full capacity, and I want to get a good night's rest more then every other week.”
    “Wow. That sounds swell. How we gonna do that?”
    “More people,” is Ed’s answer.
    “More people? I don’t like people,” He says. It is only half a lie.
    “Too bad, we’ve been running ragged, and I’m sick of it.”
    “New people?”
    “You were new once,” She reminds him. “And Piper. Look how well he’s worked out.” Piper had been Merit’s last hire, just under a year ago now, and Ollie rather adored the clairvoyant, for all he would deny it. “What else would you have me do? This clearly isn’t working.”
    “Berlin,” Ollie says suddenly.
    “What?” She has not heard of any disasters coming near the German City, and can’t think of any other reasons he would bring it up.
    “Berlin Frost. He never really quit.”
    “No one ever really quits,” Ed says. “People die, or they bugger off, or get turned into lizards, or whatever, but this isn’t something you just quit,” She says. “Running the reservists to see who’d be up for full duty’s a good start, but it’s not gonna cut it. Fresh blood is inevitable.”
    “Why?” He pouts.
    “Here’s a better question to ask; why did I call you in here?”
    “OK, I’ll bite. Why did you call me in here?”
    “You’re going to be my field leader.”
    “That’s a terrible idea.”
    “You’re the best man for the job.”
    “That’s true, but really? Me in charge? I may become suicidal.”
    “Nah. Power corrupts. Give it a week and you’ll be addled. Ordering people around left and right.”
    “They’ll never listen.” Oliver smiles, slightly. “I’m field leader, Berlin has the B team, and you’re the boss? I can live with that.”
    “Yeah, me too,” Edith says. “You’re going to have to talk Frost into it though.”
    “Sure.”
    There’s a sharp rap on the door, and Piper pokes his head in. “Um, we’ve lights in the sky and a four armed skeleton. We should probably go have a look.”
    “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go talk to him soon as we’re done with this. Hire whatever minions you like,” He tells her, with the caveat, “Just don’t expect me to be nice to them.” He exits the office with customary flourish.
    Ed leans back in her chair. “Minions,” She says. “I like the sound of that.”

    Ten hours later they’re on the ground. It’s time for Ollie to give orders. While the title’s new, he’s been acting the role for a while now. “Piper, I want you and Alec to look over the scene. I want to know everything it tells us, and I want to know now. Cleo, Viv, you’re talking to the locals. They said lights, let’s get specific.”
    Off course there’s backtalk. S.A.F.E. values free speech over obedience, unless it is a life or death situation, and even then there have been exceptions.
    “That’s sexist,” Viv says, adding after a pause, “Sir.”
    He turns to scowl at her and is met with studied, patented French aloofness. “Having the boys do the detective work, and ordering us girls to charm the witnesses? Practically barbaric.”
    “Common sense, dear. Cleo’s has the best chance of figuring if the pretty colors are alien in origin. I’ll tell you what, we find something that needs thrashing later on, it’s all yours.”
    She smiles. “Thank you. Sir.”
    He laughs. “I hadn’t thought of this, but actually, using your curves to make people talk is an A plus plan. Have at it.”
    “No thank you,” Cleo grimaces. She really hopes it’s aliens. Aliens are so much cooler then her team mates.
    Oliver is talking again. “That should be the mission designation. At least till we know what’s going on. Mission: Curves. It’ll make the paper work more interesting.”
    “Nothing makes paper work more interesting,” Aleczander complains, accent think though his yawn. “Not even curves.”
    This is met by a chorus of rolled eyes, as per normal, and they split up and get down to work.

    The end of the day they’re set up in Oliver’s hotel room, exhausted. Ollie puts his feet up on the coffee table, and asks “OK, who wants to go first.”
    No one volunteers. No one ever volunteers.“Alec?” Ollie prompts.
    The forensics scientist sighs. “The skeleton’s male, late twenties, no remarkable traits.”
    “An extra set of arms is not a remarkable trait now?” Viv asks.
    “It would be, but he hasn’t got any. Someone wanted to make it look like he did. They were sewn on. I couldn’t say if it was pre or postmortem, hardly any meat left. That’s where it really stops making sense.”
    Alec outlines how they found the body sitting on, for lack of a better world, a wooden throne. The chair is extensively damaged, but not so much as you’d expect considering the state of the guy. For once they’ve a lucky break, fingerprints are scorched into the arms.
    “The prints match a guy named Hugo Armando, and he fits the rest of the profile. Now, wait for it, here’s the kicker--Hugo went to work a week ago. There’s no way in hell he’d be so decomposed, which washes away any doubts that this isn’t our business.” Alec finishes with a long exhale. Working at S.A.F.E. has done strange and irreversible things to his psyche but he’s still got a fundamentally scientific brain, and sometimes that brain wants to jump out of his skull and die.
    Cleo cautiously speaks up, “I’ve got a question. Where did the arms come from? Is there someone walking around with only half a set of limbs, or are we missing a body?”
    No one answers, until Oliver says, “It’s something to look into, that and the mysterious Armando.”
    “No such breakthrough with the lights,” Cleo says. “People say they saw pink smoke, starting at the last month, and six nights ago, which fits the timeline. It could be magic, or some well played fireworks. We’re running some tests on for chemical residue, but no answers yet. Either way, it’s terrestrial in origin,” Cleo concludes with a frown.
    Piper smiles to her. “Not every day can be science fiction.”
    “Sadly,” She retorts.
    Oliver is almost too tired to be amused by his team. “All right scum, we have a lot of work looming, so it’s off to bed.”
    No one protests, except for Viv, and that’s out of principle, not because she really disagrees. As the team disperses to their rooms Ollie catches Piper’s sleeve, asking, “Could you stay a minute?”
    “Of course.”
    When the others have gone, Oliver asks, “You didn’t get anything off of the scene?”
    “No, not yet. I would have said something.”
    “I know, it’s just...”
    “I know, yeah.”
    “You’re coming with me to see where Armando leads us tomorrow. Alec and Cleo can deal with the science stuff.”
    “And kill each other in the process.”
    “And that,” Ollie admits. There is silence, briefly before Piper breaks it.
    “The time’s catching up, so I’m gonna hit the hay.”
    “Yeah, of course.” He is almost away when Oliver calls out, “Sweet dreams Pip.”
    Piper turns back and say, “Yeah, you too,” before closing the door behind him.
    Oliver sighs, and thinks that he’s not the one with visions, and nightmares, but it’s too late to deal. Sleep now. Worry later.

Next time in S.A.F.E.
Will Edith find a secretary? Will Oliver act like a responsible adult? Will Vivienne get to thrash someone?