CHAPTER FOUR

Just over an hour and forty-two minutes after Eeke was scheduled to arrive at her grandfather’s house, she finally stood outside the quaint garden cottage.  Her walk with Four-Dee was fairly uneventful; however, she did learn quite a bit about her newly acquired friend.  

For one thing, he had a terrible time expressing himself and remembering specific events in his life.  This had Eeke wondering how many of these horrific head mashings Four-Dee had taken over the years.  This brought on the obvious follow-up question: was Four-Dee alone, did he not have any family?  From Eeke’s experience, A.I. were required to have an authorized signed guardian before leaving their facilities.  Four-Dee in fact did not have any family, guardians, or even acquaintances, and according to him he never had any semblance of what Eeke was asking about.  

Four-Dee managed to live on his own for this long by finding work on a small farm just outside the city proper.  He helped tend the crops, feed the animals, and maintained their flower garden. Curiously enough, Eeke asked if his employers knew about Four-Dee.  At this vague question Four-Dee seemed puzzled.

“Of course they know of me.  They are the ones who gave me my position and give me my earnings at the end of every week.”

Eeke didn’t want to push too hard on the issue, she was just curious about how city folk treat A.I. versus country folk – even if it was a very small sample size.  When they got to a tall thin apartment building, Four-Dee announced, “Here is my home.”  The building, unlike most brownstones or apartment buildings that you find in a congested city, stood all on it’s own.  If you can imagine the most bland of a brown color as you possibly can, that was the color, if you would call it that, of the building.  It was such a thin building that it didn’t lean like the famous Italian tower but more so drooped from the top.  The entire foundation couldn’t have been more than fifteen feet wide so Eeke couldn’t fathom how tiny these apartments were.  

“What a lovely looking place.”  Eeke felt bad just saying it out loud to Four-Dee.  “Do you enjoy living here?”

Four-Dee considered Eeke’s question for a while, processing the concept of enjoyment.  “Yes, I do.”  He said reflexively, and in an oh-so human-like way he  touched the top of his forehead.  “It provides me with shelter and security.”

“Well, stay safe, Four-Dee.”  Eeke swung one of her legs over her bicycle, now straddling it’s seat.  “Is it okay if I stop by when I’m in the area again?”

Four-Dee quizzically examined Eeke.  “For what reason?”

Eeke’s eyes squinted as they usually did when she truly smiled.  It was one of those personal traits she was always self-conscious.  It was the reason she kept to a simple grin in photographs, but at that very moment, Eeke didn’t care.  “Because you’re my friend now.  And friend’s check-in on friends.”

“Oh.”  The concept seemed foreign to Four-Dee, but from the look on his face, Eeke supposed that he welcomed the idea. “Okay, friend.”  

After Four-Dee entered the front door of his complex, Eeke took off for her grandfather’s house.  It was a little further than she had thought but after a brisk fifteen minute ride, she had reached her final destination.  

As she approached the gnarled wooden door, the excitement built up in Eeke to tell her grandfather all about Four-Dee.  He was the one who had always instilled curiosity in her and encouraged her to broaden her horizons as she wanted to learn more and more.  

Her grandfather, Oliver Van den Berg, is a former mathematics professor who really dabbled in any type of science he could get his hands on.  Oliver retired early to raise Eeke after her parents died in a car accident.  All Eeke knows of her parents come from the wondrous stories Oliver would tell her.  And yes, while Oliver certainly can keep you on the edge of your seat with his words, as most family members of academics know, they are true scatter brains and don’t think to save menial items like photographs…or to even take them for that matter.  So Eeke is left with just words and stories, no true pictures of her beloved mother and father, nor can she even look back as most young adults do and cringe at the poor decisions she made as a teenager.  

With all that said, Eeke would be the first one to say how much she adores her grandfather and all he has done for her.  He opened the world to her.  Always instilling the thoughtful advise to continually ask questions, which then in turn would always lead to him announcing ‘You can never learn too much.’  His library is quite impressive and he would always insist on Eeke finding an answer to her question by going through his book shelves rather than typing it in on a keyboard.  

He introduced Eeke to different cultures by putting a blank map up on his study’s wall and have her pick a spot she thought was interesting.  Oliver would dedicate an entire week to that country – from their religious practices to the food they ate, Oliver would make sure Eeke understood why people did certain things, prayed to specific gods, and why they ate what they did.  By the end of the week they would take a metallic sewing pin and plant it on the map.  

There are an infinite amount of things Oliver would say he was proud of Eeke for.  How well she did in school growing up, her unwavering ambition, or how she has put her self entirely through university without asking for any help. This did force Eeke to move out to get closer to her job, but Oliver was proud nonetheless.  Most importantly of all, Oliver was most proud of how he helped harvest an appreciation for those who may not necessarily look or act the way Eeke did and seeing how much of a caring person she had grown into.  

Now Eeke, still standing at her grandfather’s front door, had a bit of trepidation to enter.  Her emotions were still knotted in her belly from what happened to Four-Dee.  Finally she took a deep breath, happy to be able to see her grandfather again, rapped on the door, and stepped inside. 

Eeke stepped in, through the door, the wood creaking as it was awoken.  The living room ahead of her was solemn, sitting there waiting for visitors to come in.  It was a simple room, basic in needs, filling the aesthetic of what a room like this should be, but not necessarily used for any type of relaxation.  A mustard looking camel-back sofa took up one side of the narrow room.  The four squared legs of an antique wooden honey-tobacco coffee table was hunkered down atop a red garnet shag rug.  Old books and magazines flooded the bottom shelf of the table, and Eeke was sure more were hidden within the two drawers on the table, while two cork-like coasters sandwiched a Burro’s-tail that hung over the edge of a clay pot that could hardly contain the plant anymore.  

The stand up lamp in the far corner filled the room with warm golden light.  The smell of burnt asparagus lingered in the air, a smell all too familiar with Eeke.  Her grandfather constantly would start cooking and then get lost in his thoughts, a new study, or some random article.  It wasn’t until the smoke alarm rang that Oliver would be reminded about his food and come running back into the kitchen.  Eeke shook her head, laughing to herself as she walked through into the kitchen, a tray of crispy asparagus waiting for her.  

“Hello?”  Eeke called out before grabbing a burnt crisp.  “I see you tried to make asparagus chips.” Eeke said with her mouth half full.  “Actually, it tastes pretty good.”  She slung her backpack on the marble counter top and slapped the halibut she bought earlier that night in the fridge.  Surprisingly enough, the small ice-pack in the plastic bag still showed some identifying features of water’s solid state.

“Pops, are you here?”  Eeke moved her bag from the counter to the loose chair in the kitchen that seemed to always be waiting to hold her bag and jacket.  As Eeke dragged her feet across the hard-wood floor – at this point her feet were genuinely tired – she could her a faint familiar sound: the unmistakable driving chords of Focus, her grandfather’s favorite band.  And based off the melodic tones echoing out towards her, it was ‘Hamburger Concerto’, her grandfather’s go-to late night LP.

The steady ticking of a swaying pendulum told Eeke she was close to the study.  She turned to examine the worn cuckoo clock.  She kept a sharp eye on the weighted chain as it oh-so gracefully dropped towards the ground.  The inner mechanics of clocks always fascinated Eeke as a younger girl.  The fact that a set of gear and levers could be so important to a person’s daily life.  Now, of course, life was more dependent on computer tech, but her grandfather still wore his mechanical watch and every night goes and resets the house’s clocks before bed.  The time on the meticulously ornate clock face read a quarter to nine.  An owl waited above the face to once again make her grand entrance in fifteen minutes.  

A stream of light peaked out through the study’s cracked door.  A mess of wiry white hair dropped down in front of a crimson leather-bound book.  The gold lettering on the spine of the book read ‘The Mysteries of Udolpho’; one of many 18th century Gothic novels that her grandfather thoroughly enjoyed.  

Eeke slid through the door, keeping quiet before pronouncing, “A well-informed mind is the best security against the contagion of folly and of vice!” Like a conductor’s baton, the half-eaten asparagus stood tall, waiting for it’s pupil’s attention.

Unblinking, clouded blue eyes peered out from a pair of thick framed glasses.  “Ah, Ms. St. Aubert, so glad you can join me tonight.”  His voice was soft and hoarse, his face long and withered.  Eeke watched as his snow-like, bushy eyebrows curved upward in concern.  “Is everything alright? I was expecting you around seven.”  

“I know, I’m sorry, Pops.”  Eeke took the final bite of the asparagus.  “You did a half-way decent job with these burnt ends too.”  

The old man chuckled as he carefully placed his bookmark in the leather-bound book and rested the entire thing on his wingback reading chair.  First he casually picked the needle up off the Focus record and then headed toward the doorway.  The two met halfway inside the room and embraced in a heartfelt hug.  Besides the occasional week where Eeke finds lost money hidden within her couch or one where she gets hit on by a cute guy at school, this typically is the highlight of her week.  It wasn’t just the hug, it was knowing that her grandfather would always be there for her.  That unconditional love that one can only find with family.  

Before she could let him know about the fish in the refrigerator, he grabbed hold of her bare arms.  “You’re freezing!” He sounded alarmed.  “Where’s your jacket?  You’re going to freeze to death.”

“I’m fine, Pops, there was an accident and I had to use my cardigan to help clean up.”  Eeke went to sit down at the plum settee sofa besides Oliver’s reading chair.  Kicking her feet up on the cushions, Eeke waved her hand at her grandfather as if to tell his raised eyebrows to calm down.  “Really, I’m okay.  I’m more concerned about what I saw.”  

Her grandfather sat back down into the hollowed out indentation on his chair and Eeke began her story of Four-Dee and the coated animals who attacked him.  Like most old, wise people, Oliver sat silently listening the entire time.  Nodding his head when he saw fit and hummed in self reflection at other points.  When she finally finished Oliver sat up, pressing his fingers up against each other and his head resting on top of that.  

“And thou shall be cleansed once more!  How dramatic…”  He muttered out loud and then shook his head.  “How can there be such closed minded people around still…”  He left his voice trail off.  

Eeke ran her spindly fingers through her now frizzled hair.  “I just thought…I thought I knew the world and now it’s been turned upside down.  Why would people hate others so strongly to do such a thing.”

“Hatred is a worldwide systemic issue, Eeke, you know that.  I guess I just…”  Oliver looked up to a world map filled with pins.  “I suppose I just painted a rosier present day when in reality racism is still as prevalent as ever, especially to someone you’re not familiar with.  I’m sure the average Joe couldn’t tell the difference between a human from an A.I. even if he was talking to one and that scares the living hell out of most people.”

“I wish I could help people understand…”

Oliver sighed.  “Most people are stuck in their ways, Eeke.  But let’s look at the bright side of things.”  This was something Oliver regularly did.  He would say, ‘Why drown in your sorrows when you shine in your happiness.’  For the first time in the conversation, he lounged back into the crook of the chair.  “It would appear you made a new friend.  What was his name? Four-Dee?”

Eeke smirked.  She truly was happy to make a new friend, she just thought she was too old to be excited about it.  “His full name….or number is 4d61676e75730a.”

“Ah-hah!”  Oliver pointed his forefinger in the air.  “You never mentioned his name was Magnus.”

Hesitant to correct her grandfather Eeke just said.  “I didn’t.”

“Hexadecimal code.” Oliver took a sip of old coffee on his side table.  “You read off a hexadecimal code that translates to Magnus.”  

Eeke threw both of her hands up in the air.  “And of course that’s something you know off the top of your head.  Four-Dee, I mean Magnus will be interested to know.”

Oliver got up and grabbed an old notebook off a nearby bookshelf.  “A few years before I retired I took a deep dive into hexadecimals and their impact in programming.”

“Before you dive into one of your famous lectures I should go prep the halibut I brought.”

“I’d love to meet him one day, if you are okay with it.”  Oliver stood up and proclaimed, “Enough waiting, though, let’s go eat.  It’s close to my bed time already.”  

“Great, we’ll kill two birds with one stone.  I’ll teach you how to cook while we plan on how we’ll disband this human supremacist group.”  Eeke stood up in excitement and jokingly elbowed her grandfather in his side as they headed back out towards the burnt asparagus and bagged fish.  

CHAPTER FIVE

Approximately two train stops and a fifteen-minute walk outside of the city perched an old, abandoned windmill atop a hilly marsh.  The mill sadly never was maintained and had severely deteriorated over the past few centuries.  Even the American tourists who would spend hours taking pictures of a well-placed flower near the canals would not visit what the locals simply called ‘Vergeten’, or if you are one of those traveling Americans, the loose translation is ‘The Forgotten’.  

The old wooden cylinder is immense – nearly double the size of any other Dutch windmill – yet any historian who has gotten bored and needed something to do, could not figure out the purpose of the large forgotten one.  And so, much like tourists, the windmill was lost in thought to scholars across the country.  

In what many believe to be the mill’s own protest of having visitors, the blades have recently rotated forty-five degrees to block the entrance to the tower with one of it’s own sails.  While most accept this as a silly coincidence, this was actually done on purpose.  And in fact, Vergeten is not abandoned at all, it has been adopted by a local organization known as the Purification of the Insipid and Stratified Societies.  

Unfortunately, the group had grown faster than their organizers believed it would and before they came to realize what the acronym of their organization was, they feared it was too late to make any changes now.  Fliers had been handed out, introductions had been made, and meetings had been adjourned.  Yes, it was indeed too late to change the name of this band of troops, but they all had agreed to never announce themselves as P.I.S.S. members.  Instead the leader’s of said organization thought a more high-brow nickname would be ‘The Society’ and so after great deliberation the members of the Purification of the Insipid and Stratified Societies voted 45-1 to commonly identify themselves as member of ‘The Society’.

If you’re wondering who the one vote against was, it was a gentleman by the name of Hans Jannsen who fought tooth and nail to have the group’s official name be Civilians United for the Never-ending Truth.  While both long winded names necessarily didn’t have any true substance to either of them, it was their  fearless leader, a woman they all simply called The Countess that pointed out that the acronym for Hans’ suggestion may very well be worse than being a pisser.  The Society courteously laughed at The Countess’ comment, paused for a moment while they added two and two together, and then truly laughed from the deepest bellows of their bellies.  From that point on Hans was lovingly given the same nickname as his suggestive nomination.  

The tall grass swayed in the wind and the quiet of nightfall surrounded the lonely hill.  The moon had already begun it’s slow descent back over the western horizon, but it still gave enough light to anyone who wanted to trudge their way through the wet marshes around Vergeten.  Two men in overcoats were doing just that.  

Muttering and cursing under their breath, the two men, more affectionately known as Cow and Llama in an Overcoat carefully made their way towards the enormous windmill.  As the two made it to the top of the hill, they stopped for a moment to admire the waning moon.  The splendid view was only partially ruined by the comedic site of the two men’s build.  Had a quick-witted toddler been behind the two men, she may have called out “Ten!” at the site of a number she recognized.  

The two men scampered around towards the back of Vergeten, and despite the fitting animal descriptions, these two men had names of their own.  The long, lanky man with shaggy hair called himself Lyle, while the short stout boulder of a man was often referred to as Marcus.  

“I can never find this damn entrance…”  Marcus growled out loud.  The shorter man ran his hands along the back of the windmill.

Lyle, on hands and knees called back, “No, no, last time I was here another fellow pressed something over here.” 

“This is what we get for stopping when we saw that fool again.” Marcus scowled.  “I knew it’d make us late.”

Lyle stood up and faced Marcus.  “But it’s like the bloke is asking for it! Just strolling past us like that! You’d think he’s learned his lesson by now.”

“Well, he hasn’t, and now we’re late.  There’s no way The Countess will forgive us for this.”

“I’ve got an idea.”  Lyle had now completely stopped looking for their secrete entrance.  “What if we don’t go in at all.  There’s so many of us that we can just claim we were there.  All we have to say is ‘Oh, you didn’t see us the other night?  We were right there! Yeah, I know! Right behind you and you don’t even remember us being there! How funny!'”

Marcus now stopped his search along the back wall and thought about Lyle’s suggestion.  “Are you a complete idiot?!” he marched towards the taller man.  “Are you sure you’re not one of ’em?!”

Taken off-guard, Lyle began to run his hands over his face.  “No, no,” he continued to pat and grasp parts of his body, “Definitely not one of those a bottle nations.”

“A bottle-what?”

“You know, just like what The Countess call ’em.”

Marcus began to muttered “A bottle nation,” to himself over and over again until he finally said it fast enough that Lyle stopped him.  

“That!  That’s it!”

Now, utterly confused, Marcus stopped for a moment trying to match what he had said with The Countess’ voice.  Finally, he proudly shouted, “Abomination!”

“That’s what I said!”  Lyle insisted.

Even in the dark of night, it was easy to see the blood rushing up into the shorter man’s rounded face.  “Shut up and keep looking!” he barked before reaching up and clouting the taller man behind the ear.  

Lyle reflectively reached up to his ear and stomped his foot down at the same time – a nervous tick he had developed over the years working with Marcus.  If you listened closely over Lyle’s cry, the two men would have noticed his foot stomped on hollow ground.  

The earth began to shake, as a hidden door lid open beneath them.  A metal compartment approximately six feet tall and four feet wide rose from the ground.  A bronzed, accordion like gate temporarily closed off the only open end of the lift.  

“You see, I told you it was in the ground.”  Lyle continued to say as he held on to his bruised ear.  “I just knew it.”

Marcus grumbled all the way to the gate, opening it and stepping inside. Lyle, instead, had his back turned to the lift looking back down at the ground.  “Are you coming or what?”  Marcus demanded.

“Yes, just one thing.”  Lyle scrambled down to the ground right around where he had stomped his foot down and began to pile a few rocks on top of each other.  “There!” he proclaimed.  “For next time!”

Despite his anger clouding his judgment, Marcus couldn’t help but think that placing a marker for next time was a good idea.  Of course, he wouldn’t say that out loud.  Instead he just yelled out,  “Goodbye Lyle,” and he began to close the bronze gate.

Lyle stumbled up to his feet, running into the lift before Marcus could fully close the gate.  Grabbing the lever along the wall to his right he announced, “Going down!” as he pulled the lever towards himself and the lift began to descend back down below. 

A figure stood up in the center of the cylinder.  Even from this distance it was clear that this figure was a woman.  Her shoulder’s hunched forward as if the weight of the world were on them.  The size of her chest was only matched in size by the hips that her hands currently rested upon.  A woolen black jacket and pencil skirt wrapped itself around The Countess’ plump figure, just barely grabbing hold around her waist.  She wore a matching black cloche with an over-sized emerald flower on its side that tilted down to cover up her large, hooked nose and gravely teeth.  Her finger nails moved to dig into the make-shift lectern in front of her, waiting for those around her to quiet down.

The Countess, whose real name is Renee Fleming – no relation to the 20th Century opera singer of the same name – is a harsh woman who rules her minions with an iron fist.  Finally losing her patience, her voice rang out, demanding silence.  It was a sharp, shrill voice that more-so resembled finger nails dragging across a chalkboard rather than the voice of her namesake singer.

At a glance, one would believe this well-dress woman at the center of attention of this mass of rag-tag men would feel estranged, but The Countess reveled in the attention.  Still, a lot of her followers did find it strange that someone of her ilk would bother herself with secret meetings and men with questionable pasts.  It was rumored that The Countess had once fallen in love with a gentleman, not just a man, who was the perfect specimen.  But as most women know, there is no such thing as the perfect man, for he was an android.  The Countess’ heart was broken.  She knew shouldn’t couldn’t spend her life with a robot, even if she truly loved him because she knew deep down inside that he never would truly love her.  So, as the rumor goes, she tore they pore fellow’s throat out with her bare hands and swore revenge on these deceiving creatures.  Of course, that is just a rumor that some members like to theorize about over a coffee.  

“Silence!” her voice rang out.  “When darkness falls and evil reigns supreme, purity will rise again and thou shall be cleansed once more.”

“And thou shall be cleansed once more” the mass of bodies surrounding The Countess echoed back at her.  

The amphitheater that The Countess stood at the center of sat twenty meters below the cylindrical mill.  The Society weren’t the ones who added this additional level to Vergeten.  Stig, the one who suggested this location to The Countess, said it was a hidden bomb shelter back during the second world war.  Stig who works for a local environmental clean-up agency, said him and his colleagues found the abandoned site and deemed it superfluous and more of an environmental hazard to remove the thick lead walls then to keep it in place.  

The crowd began to quiet, sporadic hushes and mummers fading to silence. “My children, you have all done such a wonderful job spreading our word of purity.  THE WORD OF PURITY!”  This was met with a large round of applause.  The Countess stuck up her spindly hand.  “But the world is far from cleansed of those impostors!  These abominations!”  Spittle flew out of The Countess’ mouth as she continued.  “We must keep this momentum going! We must not stop, we must continue.”

Cheers once again filled the hall.  Men stomping their feet on the wooden risers and whistling in appreciation.  The Countess opened her pencil-thin lips and managed to get out “And we-” before painfully loud screeching completely drowned out even The Countess’ piercing voice.  She continued on like a silent movie star for a moment or two before realizing no one was paying attention to her.  Her mouth shut tight and she turned her attention towards the slowly descending lift that seemed to be struggling it’s way down.  

Marcus and Lyle stood petrified in the metal contraption as it rattled and jerked it’s way down.  The lift gave one final jolt before abruptly dropping to the ground.  The two topped their grand entrance off with one final squeal of the bronze gate opening.  

All eyes were on Marcus and Lyle, following them as they curiously enough tried to hide themselves within the mass of people.  One of the members, the one who always was around to fix things, but no one ever knew his name, took to examining the lift while the rest waited with bated breath to see what The Countess would say.

“Marcus and Lyle, isn’t it?”  The Countess hissed.  She was generally good with names of all the members of The Society.  The two men nodded in agreement and started to walk towards The Countess after she called them over with her pointer finger.  

“Hey! You didn’t put the lever all the way down!”  the handy man called out from within the lift.  

A collective sigh was let out around the two as all eyes followed them to The Countess except for Marcus, his eyes were currently burning a hole through the side of Lyle’s head.  

“Thank you…”  Not even The Countess could recall the handy man’s name.  “Great work.”  Her eyes darted back to the approaching men in overcoats.  “You two, I’ve just about had enough of the two of you.  I could care less if you have beaten that Gen-One to a pulp again, you’ve both been a hindrance to our operation this entire time!”

Lyle’s mouth dropped open ready to expand on how well they beat up that android earlier that night but Marcus’ elbow struck him in the ribs, knocking the air our of Lyle.  

Those who were closest to The Countess all subconsciously took a step back.  You see The Society had a lot of “planning” time together, so discussions were quickly derailed by tangents and rumors. Another one of those rumors was that The Countess had secret death-ray vision that could shoot you out of oblivion.  While a stretch for some, it made perfectly good sense to others, otherwise why else would she wear her hat so absurdly low.  

“Now until you two do something worth our while, I don’t want to see you or hear from either of you!”  Veins bulged from The Countess’ neck as she scolded the two men.  “And if you interrupt me again, you’ll regret you ever joined The Society!”  The circle around the three again took a cautionary step backwards.  

Marcus and Lyle stood dumb-founded, not quite sure what to do.  The Countess shot her finger towards the noisy lift.  “Leave!”  The two men jumped in surprise.  “Now!”

The two scampered away back towards the lift.  This time Marcus placed himself in front of the controller lever.  

CHAPTER SIX

The Singel canal blazed a fiery amber, emulating the morning Sun rise.  The alluring smell of fresh bread and ground, Arabica beans lingered in the air as Eeke cruised along the water.  For one reason or another, Eeke seemed to be constantly running late, so this hint of homemade breakfast was typically closest Eeke got to sitting down and actually eating a meal.  

While technology advanced, the people of Amsterdam never lost their sense of self.  This in particular is one thing that Eeke adored about her city.  She could take the same bike route her grandfather and her grandfather’s father took through town every day.  Noordermarkt can still found in it’s quaint outdoor square at the heart of Jordaan.  Local glass makers, wood workers, bakers, and florists all still thrived in an otherwise conglomerate driven world.  

The further Eeke wound her way through Old Centre, the more she saw lines already forming outside some of the more popular tourist attractions.  Packs of camera-towing individuals looking to get a picture of this statue or that, and others waiting to ride their first canal ferry.   

Eeke came to a stop as the morning tram passed by along the bridge in front of her.  A deep howl growled out from Eeke’s stomach.  Her late night dinner was not sitting well with her and at the moment she rued ever putting on her high-wasted slacks this morning.  Like a stone at the bottom of a pond, that halibut sat in the pit of her stomach.  

Besides the fish, the dinner the night before was rather uneventful.  Eeke made sure to warn her grandfather to keep an eye out for two funny looking men in overcoats.  He insisted he would, but in exchange he asked Eeke not to dwell on the subject any longer. Eeke did just that, rather reluctantly, but she did.  Now as she thought about their conversation, she was somewhat bewildered by her grandfather’s lack of reaction.  She admittedly was more frightened then she had ever been and her grandfather didn’t even blink an eye.  

Despite insisting to her grandfather that she would let last night’s events go, Eeke couldn’t help but keep an eye out for two oddly-shaped men in overcoats as the tram passed on by.  Much to her chagrin, no disreputable looking men were in site.  Although now that she thought about it, what type of hooligan would be out and about this early in the morning any way.  It was her ride home that she’ll have to be vigilant and observant.  So as the tram pulled away, Eeke peddled forwarded with her more comfortable white tennis shoes.  

A couple sat, embracing each other on the far side of the bridge.  The woman’s head rested on the man’s shoulder, looking out over the Singel.  The couple reminded Eeke about the way her grandfather spoke about her grandma.  Even the night before, like most conversations with her grandfather, it slowly drifted down to memory lane.  

Although Clementine Van den Berg never got a chance to meet her granddaughter, Oliver insists her spirit lives on in Eeke.  Most nights at her grandfather’s house typically lead to her and Oliver flipping through old photo albums.  For someone who has only had her grandfather in her life, memories were in short supply so pictures were the best Eeke could do to imagine a life that never was.  Whether or not Eeke resembled Clementine in any way as a person, she couldn’t say, but she was certainly a carbon copy of her grandmother.  

From the looks of it, Eeke swore her grandparents traveled around the world before her mother was even born, but her most favorite picture of her grandparents was taken in Tivoli, Italy.  Hadrian’s Villa to be exact.  A second-century retreat for Roman Emperor Hadrian that was more ruins than villa by the time Oliver and Clementine visited.  Yet everything about the picture brought joy to Eeke’s heart.  The golden hue of the setting sun that seemed to make her grandmother glow, the line of cypress trees behind the couple brought a balance to archaeological ruins, her grandfather’s loving grasp around her grandmother all shaped the world that the Van den Berg’s lived in Eeke’s eyes.  Not only were they a couple in love, but a couple that wanted to explore the world together and appreciate the generations that came before them.  

The Italian countryside definitely suited Clementine.  She looked like she belonged there in her button-up denim shirt, loose and flowing, a leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder, and black-rimmed sunglasses hiding her hooded-almond eyes.  A light Mediterranean breeze makes it look like Clementine’s soft honey hair is delicately dancing a waltz with the wind.  If Eeke closes her eyes she likes to think she can feel the same wind blowing through her hair and smell the crisp Lazio air.  Or at least know what it was like to know her grandmother.  

Eeke wheeled up to the back of an old brick building at the heart of Old Centre.  Her bicycle slid into the first open bike rack and walked down the spindly alley towards a set of double-doors with golden letters that have become synonymous with the city: the golden C.S. of Charleston Smith’s.

The extraordinary history of Charleston Smith’s is surprisingly sparse.  The world-famous company in artificial intelligence came into purview give-or-take ten years ago, depending on who you ask.  The reason for this was simple: how accepting would the vast majority of the city be to A.I. that would put the Turing test to shame.  In reality the company has slowly growing for what a quarter-century now.  While this estimate is again, solely based on hearsay, it can be loosely supported by the oldest known A.I. officially documented by Charleston Smith’s, Alf, who currently – and successfully – works as a tram repair technician for the city.  

The technology behind Charleston Smith’s wonders are still an unknown entity to most, including their own employees, which has helped to limit any real competition in the market.  It is even rumored that all engineers employed by the company must sign an N.D.A. sworn in their own blood, but again, much of this are mere rumors.  The most mysterious aspect of the entire company seems to center around it’s founder, or lack there of.  

The two name bearers of the company belong to James Charleston and Harry Smith, two well known British investors.  Charleston who comes from the finance industry, grew his fortune leading Britain’s leading bank for two decades.  He can now be found docked off the coast of Greece on his yacht, ‘Missy’, named after his ex-wife, with one of his many younger girlfriends.  

Harry Smith on the other hand seems to have reversed his celebrity appeal.  Smith gained world-wide notoriety writing best-selling science fiction novels.  His books gained critical acclaim from the science community for how well he represented the field.  This was something Smith took great pride in, who majored in biology at Cambridge before dropping out to pursue his writing career.  Smith would double and then triple the money he made off of his novels by investing in start up tech-companies, the last being Charleston Smith’s.  After the company’s founding, Smith seemingly disappeared from the public life and many speculate that he retired to his home town of Portree, Scotland.  

Despite the company’s world-wide recognition and it’s two famous investors, it is still unknown who started the company.  Who is the genius behind this world changing technology? They would ask Charleston and Smith.  Or who hired you? But the two men would keep silent and still do.  They acted as the two public faces to start and grow the company and did so successfully until they themselves weren’t needed.  But there is always that shroud of mystery hanging over the company.  

Eeke never fell for any of those wild rumors and always took her grandfather’s stance to be logical when it came to crack-pot theories.  Still she wanted to put her mind to rest and see if she could find Magnus in any of Charleston Smith’s files.  

Coming in through the back entrance employees are required to first scan their I.D. badge to be let in through the double-doors.  Through the back doors employees then find themselves in a small three-foot by four-foot room where employees were again asked to show their I.D., physically sign-in on a form, and then be given a wrist band with what day of the week it was.  An old man named Walter worked the sign in counter every day.  Calling him old was perhaps an understatement, though, he truly looked ancient.  

The years have squished Walter’s face down into a block of wrinkled skin.  Wire-framed glasses sat in front of his sunken eyes that poked out from behind heavy-set eyelids. He always wore a weathered breton hat that he insisted his great-grandfather wore to chauffeur around the American Ambassador to the Netherlands. Because of the constant opening of the door near Walter’s little booth, he always had on his woolen sweater, corduroy slacks, and leather-bound duck boots.  

Despite having to deal with the fickle weather conditions and daily mundane activities, Walter welcomed everyone with a pleasant, toothless smile, and always had his Montegrappa ballpoint pen in his pocket for those who needed it during check-in.  

After signing in at Walter’s booth, a curved hallway lined with infrared security cameras.  No doors lined the hallway besides the one that waited at the very end into the employee’s sitting room where Eeke found herself now.  

Typically in the mornings, Eeke, or whoever was scheduled to work the front desk at that time was the first one in to prep the shop for their clientele.  Examining the schedule that the night shift manager hung up on the message cork board, it didn’t appear that any customers were scheduled to come in until mid-day.  Tossing her backpack into a locker, she headed out to the front desk.  

Eeke surveyed the waiting room, lined with fine art and antique furniture, seeing if anything was out of place from the night before.  At times she couldn’t resist thinking about how this room alone put her small alcove studio apartment to shame.  She stood in what everyone referred to as the ‘front desk’ but was truly an administrative office that was conjoined to both the main entrance and waiting room to keep an ever-seeing eye on all patrons.  

It was quiet today.  When there were no appointments most of the consultants didn’t come in until later and all the technicians were locked away in the laboratories.    This was a nice change of pace for Eeke who usually had to deal with the insurmountable number of clients who thought it was important to set their appointments for first thing in the morning.  This forced the company into creating their ’15-minute rule’.  This required each appointment to be booked at least 15-minutes apart, for one thing to keep the incoming traffic at a steady flow, but more importantly, it kept the waiting room less crowded and therefore making those who were waiting like they were experiencing something exclusive to only a few.  This thinking is what has helped blossom Charleston Smith’s selective reputation.  

Sitting down at her computer, Eeke gathered today’s appointments before casually swiping across her touch screen to the archives.  Although the large computer monitor tilted up off the desk to make it easy for the user to navigate, Eeke still looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was around.  

“You’re not doing anything wrong.”  She muttered to herself.  “You’re just checking the archives for any missing data from Denise.”

Denise Lange was the night-shift administrator.  She was truly beautiful; a tall and sharp faced woman, Denise had dabbled in modeling as a young twenty-something year-old before getting blacklisted out of the industry for her continuous late arrivals and no shows.  Not much has changed with Denise since then.  While it’s been nearly ten years since her last modeling gig (she was the foot model for a new ‘ever-lasting’ nail polish) she was still tall and some would even say more beautiful after putting on some weight.  Unfortunately, her inability to arrive anywhere on time, if at all, was still part of Miss Lange’s DNA as well.  

Eeke guessed that the company kept Denise on for one of three reasons: Either her salary was so cheap, it wasn’t worth hiring someone new.  They only hired incredibly attractive people and they couldn’t finish anyone else.  This reasoning was kiboshed after taking herself into account.  And finally, and the most likely Eeke thought, was that sweet, long-legged Denise was having an affair with one of the higher ups her at Charleston Smith’s.  That indeed seemed the most likely, otherwise how could they allow someone to arrive late to work so consistently – sometimes in the same dress as the night before! – and to continually leave work early to get to that night’s hot club.  

The frustration built up inside Eeke so much so that she had to stop and take a deep breath.  She absolutely despised anyone who could get away with doing a half-assed job, especially when it was the same exact job that she worked so hard at.  She looked up once again to survey the waiting room.  Eeke was about to compliment Denise was one-night’s good work before realizing a few loose papers were scattered along a table near the far-end of the room.  

Angered…annoyed…all those emotions that well-up inside of you when you have to pick up your co-workers slack all radiated deep inside of Eeke as she got up and stomped over, grabbed the papers without looking, and hurried back to her desk knowing that she didn’t have much more time to herself before others showed up for work.  

Plopping the papers down next to the computer, Eeke began searching through recent files:

Kristiansen, Ole

Silva, Beatriz

Murphy, Seamus

Korhonen, Elias

Borg, Charlene

Eeke was always interested at the names clients chose and putting them to faces when clients came to pick-up.  Clicking on a magnifying glass in the top right-hand corner of the screen, Eeke typed in ‘MAGNUS’.

No results.  This surprised Eeke, but how many Magnus’ did she really meet on a daily basis.  Tapping out of the search bar, Eeke began to scroll down through past cases.  A never-ending scroll of new names and faces brought into this world, but no sign of a number-based system to assign to these creations.  She saw Francois and Tomas, Katherine and Mieko, names from all across the world, people just like Magnus spreading their roots to create a stable foundation for those who come next.  

Realizing she had only gone through the past two years, Eeke pulled up the search bar once more. Typing in the number four was all Eeke needed to find her prize.  The archived files jumped down to a cluster of hexadecimal numbers.

416c660d0a 

4d61676e75730a

5468656f646f72650d0a

4b72697374696e610d0a0d0a 

45656b650d0a

There he was…Four-Dee.  It looked like Magnus was indeed a Charleston Smith’s model, but there was no dates associated with any of these models.  Eeke began to scribble down alpha-numeric sequences so she can translate the other models into names.  Then she can help Magnus find others just like himself.  

Footsteps echoed down through the hallways behind her office.  Eeke scribbled as fast as should could.  There was no rules against going be through old files, but Eeke couldn’t help but think of the worst case scenarios in her head.  Maybe an alarm went off after she accessed these?  Was there a hidden clause in her contract saying she’d be terminated if she went digging into the company’s database without being asked?  Are they about to drag her out of the building like a criminal?

The footsteps got closer, echoing more loudly in the otherwise empty hallway.  

“Shit! Come one, come on…”  Eeke continued to quickly write down the data. “Why in the world is this one so long?”  She complained as she finished up the fourth model number. 

The handle on the door turned as it quietly opened up.  Eeke scrambled around, flipping her notes around and exiting out to the home page on the computer.  

“Ah, Eeke, you’re in.”  A silky smooth voice called out from behind her.  Why was everyone always surprised to see her in the office?  Was she the only one in the office working off a set schedule?  Eeke turned around to see Liam – one of the senior consultants – standing in the doorway.  Denise absolutely loved Liam and his perfectly quaffed hair and five o’clock shadow, but Eeke just didn’t see it.  He always seemed a bit off to her.  “I need to fast track a client I had in last night.”

Liam strode over to Eeke’s side.  “It’s for the Kristiansen’s.  Olivia and Oskar Kristiansen.”

Reflectively Eeke spat out.  “Ole?”

Liam’s eyebrow raised up over his right eye.  “Yes, how did you…” Liam looked around for a moment.  “Oh, you must have found these and looked up the file.”  Liam grabbed the loose papers Eeke had found in the waiting room that she had made her notes on.  She can now see they were part of Charleston Smith’s new client survey.    Liam began to rummage through the handful of papers.

“Here!”  Eeke shot up out of her seat snatching the papers out of Liam’s hands.  “Let me take those and file them for you.”  Trying to get her breathing under control, Eeke closed her eyes, hoping Liam wouldn’t think anything of it.  “Besides,” she continued, “I’m sure you have other things to do if we’re going to expedite this account.”

Liam’s eye danced around, giving Eeke a once over before he smirked and said, “Sure.  It seems you’re already familiar with the account.”  His head nodded over to her computer.  “It’s certainly nice to see some people being proactive in the office.”  Just as he was about to step out of the room he turned back around.  “And don’t forget to let the technicians know about the expedited case.  Looks like it’ll be a long night for me again…”  He dramatically rolled his eyes in jest and chuckled at himself before closing the door shut.

Eeke let out a deep sigh of relief not wasting another second folding up her notes into her pants pocket.

Copyright William Meier Jr. 2022 ©