Section F: Fairy Tales & Physicists

Chapter 31

From his current vantage point, Fields' view consisted of little more than the back of the control console, so he was in no position to judge the success—or otherwise—of Featherstone's endeavours. Although, if he was being honest, he knew he probably wouldn't be in any position to judge, even if he could see. In any case, safe in the knowledge his one and only task was well within his (he was increasingly realising) limited skill set, he settled down to wait, with his most immediate issue the challenge of finding a non-sore part to sit on. Failing completely, he finally settled for the less bruised of his buttocks.

The next issue, now that he was stationary, was staying awake. The soft humming of the equipment, the muted rustling of Featherstone working at his console—the subdued sounds blended into a subtle susurration, which lulled his weary mind almost to the point of insensibility.

Fighting the heaviness of his traitorous eyelids, Fields forced himself to stay awake, to think, to concentrate, to focus on something. In desperation, he fixated on the shimmering play of the portal-light across the ceiling, the waves of viridescence washing back and forth, back and forth—hypnotic, rhythmic—back and forth, back and forth...

"Oh my goodness—whatever have you been doing to yourself? You're a mess."

Astonished, Fields stared up at the woman standing over him. "Penny! How the hell did you get here?"

Looking down, indescribably lovely even in the green half-light, she smiled that infuriating smile of hers. The one with the dimple in the left cheek. The one he always found so hard to resist. "Well, I can leave, if you like."

He scrambled to his feet. "No! I mean, yes—you should. It's not safe here."

The smile became a pout. "I thought you'd be glad to see me. But you just want me to go away."

Fields had absolutely no chance against the pout. "I am! I don't! I mean, I do. But I am, and I don't really, but I do, even though I really am and actually don't. Um." Smooth-talking had never really been one of his strengths, but around Penny he found he frequently plumbed new and exciting depths of inarticulation.

Nevertheless—possibly from past experiences—she seemed to catch his meaning. "Oh, you big, silly, tongue-tied duffer." Stepping aside, she revealed a figure standing behind her. "That's good, because I've brought Daddy along with me, so we can make everything alright again—so we can make things how they used to be."

Fields gaped at the craggy-faced, black-suited man. "Director!" Reflexively, he made to straighten his tie, before realising it wasn't there anymore. He settled for standing at attention. "How nice to see you, sir. But you really shouldn't be...I'm afraid I must insist that you, er...that is, I have to ask, um...I'd like to request—"

"Shut up, Fields. This is no time for your blathering. Honestly, what my daughter sees in the likes of you, I have no idea. Nevertheless, despite all evidence to the contrary, she seems to feel you have some redeeming qualities." With a disdainful snort, he looked the bedraggled agent up and down. "Personally, I have my doubts.

"But I love my daughter, Fields. I respect her opinion. And I can't very well have her running around with an agent who spends his days chasing after fantasies or frisking fairy-tale felons or doing whatever ridiculous rubbish it is you weirdos in Section F claim to do. There's a spot for you back in vice, if you want it." The look on the director's face made it very clear to Fields he'd better bloody want it, if he knew what was good for him.

"Er...thank you, sir. I, ah..."

"Do spit it out, dear." Fields blinked in astonishment at the new figure who emerged from behind the director. "No-one likes a stammerer."