ANDERS MAGE PAGE 2.0

Andrew was shown to a flagstone patio overlooking a spacious garden behind the manor house. He knew he was in Tivoli, not far from Rome. Andrew, or as the Adept was more commonly known, Bitcon, did not travel in the standard fashion so he hadn’t seen the rest of the city or any of the countryside. He considered himself fortunate not to have to crowd into trains or taxis stuffed with tourists. Let the Sleepers marvel at the old buildings. Some of us have more important thing to do, he thought as he started on the quaint stone path that lead him to a table with two chairs he could already see some distance ahead.

Although a luxurious garden in full bloom rolled out in every direction as he threaded the path he was not happy to be here. As one of the planners of the upcoming raid of a Technocratic stronghold he knew time was important. Having to come in person to secure the support of the Choristers was annoying.

He could see now that his contact, exarch Lombardi of the Chorus, was an old man. Lombardi smiled as the young Adept took his seat immediately and ignored the tea setting.

“Why was I called all the way here instead of sending a simple reply to my message? Why are you Choristers so afraid of modern communications? My lines are more secure against eavesdropping than you know.”

“This isn’t about security. I wanted to see you up close. Share some tea,” the Chorister replied.

“How much time did you waste? This isn’t necessary. It’s inefficient!”

The old Chorister didn’t seem to even hear Andrew. “I visited a friend in Cairo not long ago. He asked if I’d like coffee. I protested, ‘No. No coffee. I’m not here long enough. Not worth the trouble.’ He was stubborn. ‘I’ll get it. You must try my coffee. Not like that mud they pour at the cafes.’”

A look of disbelief spread over the young man’s face as he realized he was too late to cut off the tale.

“’I don’t want coffee,’” the old man continued. “‘I’m in a hurry and can’t sit that long.’ ‘Just takes a minute,’ he said. ‘Everything’s right here.’ ‘I’m not here to bother you. Just need to pass something off.’ I don’t give up easy either, you see.”

The young Adept didn’t conceal his annoyance as he took a sidelong glance at a flowering bush. As he thought of how to get out of this unpleasant exchange he noticed the delicate colors the flowers displayed.

“We argued for the longest time,” continued the Chorister. “Finally, he poured the coffee and we both enjoyed it. That’s how you visit in Egypt. Inefficient, very.” The old man’s pause caused the Adept to inadvertently look back to his face. His eyes were fixed on the young man’s. “By the time that exchange was over I knew his heart and he knew mine.”

The Adept forgot his annoyance now. The Chorister continued, “You Virtual Adepts aren’t in the Technocratic Union anymore. You’re in the Council of Nine. We don’t have the Technocrats’ efficiency. We argue, we blather, we trip over each other. We waste time. But we have heart. Hearts of flesh, not hearts of steel.”

“I asked you here to my garden to see your face. Hear your voice. Now I don’t know of you — I know you. And I’m not a ‘contact’ to you anymore. I’m an old man who talks too much and pushes tea on young people with better things to do.” The old Chorister smiled. There was a hint of something in that smile but it wasn’t cunning. It was something else.

The old man went on. “The Adepts formed inside the Technocracy and you took your first steps there. You learned their ways. Efficiency, excellence, logic. But you left them because you wanted something more. You’re with us now and you’ll learn our ways.”

The Adept protested. “I’ve never been a Technocrat. The Adepts defected long ago.”

“But you learned your skills from a man who learned his from a fellow who was a Technocrat. Am I wrong?” The Adept paused. The old man didn’t allow him a reply. “The leopard doesn’t change its spots that quickly. These things take time. In the meantime, I have plenty of tea and plenty of stories. I’m not going anywhere until I see some heart in you Adepts.”

The Adept reached in his mind for a sharp comeback but his hand found nothing. He mumbled as he thought out loud, “I wonder what I’d be like if I had been a Chorister?”

“What’s that?” The old man leaned forward.

“Nothing. Just wondering how long until the scones arrive. I’ve heard senile old men can’t live without them.”

The Chorister smiled again. “We can’t. It’s embarrassing. Until then, will you have another cup?”

“I… will.” The Adept decided a confrontation with the old goat wasn’t worth the effort. Besides, the garden was lovely...