"We in England," Patterson demands. He probably thinks that Hyde-White, with his accent and manners, is a faggot and can be pushed around.
"Oh, why, yes, Mr. Patterson. Most perceptive of you," Hyde-White replies without evident irony. "Do sit down. Of course you are full of questions, and it is only right that I answer them before putting a few of my own to you."
You do sit, and after a moment's hesitation Patterson does too. "So, who are you again, and what do you have to do with a fat Chinese asshole back in Saratoga Falls?" Patterson asks.
The professor's expression tightens, but he smiles. "My name, again, is Jameson Hyde-White, and I am the Fane Professor of Biomedical Engineering at Cambridge University. You have heard of Cambridge, at least," he asks with slight weariness.
"Yeah, I heard of that place," Patterson says. "Now as for the Chinese--"
"The gentleman to whom you allude," the professor says, "is actually Korean-American, not Chinese. I do not know him personally. He is an employee of an employee of a colleague of mine. I am told that he is extremely adept within a very narrowly circumscribed area of competence--"
"Huh?"
The professor smiles again even as his eyes fall. "He's good at beating people up. Would you argue, Mr. Patterson?"
"Yeah, well, but if I'd been feeling fresh--"
The professor's teeth shine like glaciers. "Quite. He is also, shall we say, a point of contact that we maintain with Mr. Curt Straussler, who is the majority owner of a company, one Proteus Technologies, with which we would very much like to establish an alliance."
"He works for Jon Straussler's dad?"
"Not for, Mr. Patterson." The professor's tone is becoming increasingly clenched. "Nor does he work with him. He works for us--"
"Who's 'us'?" Patterson's tone is now openly belligerent, and you wonder how long the professor can maintain his demeanor. To your eye, he's already lost his temper.
"Fane."
"Who's 'Fane'?"
"What is Fane, Mr. Patterson. Though Why is Fane would be a more perceptive line of inquiry."
"Okay, so why is Fane sending fat Korean-American assholes to beat up us?"
At any other time, you'd like that Patterson has included you in the scope of the pronoun. Now, you recoil.
"What a question," the professor barks. "Why, because of this." From a briefcase you'd not previously noticed at his side he draws out a bundle. Carefully he unwraps it.
It's the book.
"You know what this is, Mr. Patterson. And we all know what you and--" For almost the first time since the start of the interview, the professor glances at you. "And Mr. Prescott were doing with it."
"Yeah."
"Well then. The question answers itself, doesn't it?" The professor crosses his legs and smiles.
"You'd assume so, huh?" Patterson says. "Well, you can make an ass of you, but don't make an ass of me. Pretend I don't get your fancy answer, and tell me."
A red spot shows in the middle of the professor's forehead. He folds his slim hands across his knee. "Very well. You used the Libra Personae--that's this book here, Mr. Patterson," he interrupts, forestalling the other. "You used it to put yourselves in place of Mr. Straussler's son and his son's girlfriend." You hide your face as his gleaming eye again falls on you. "You infiltrated a very desirable position and made it your own. Mr. Straussler, however, caught you at it. When he did, he contacted Mr. Kim, with whom he's had conversations relating to a possible Fane partnership, on the--I am relieved to say--on the false assumption that we might have had some connection to it. We were able to set his mind at ease, and to give him answers, though, regrettably, at some personal discomfort to yourselves. However, Mr. Kim had the wit to understand that the items which you had used would be of interest to us--"
"So you want the book and masks so you can do what we were doing."
Hyde-White looks as though he's been slapped. "Why--! Why, yes!" His gasp of surprise is one at the utter and obvious truth of Patterson's accusation. "Dear me, but of course! This find is one of inestimable value! It is historic! Singular!" He lays reverent hands on the book's cover. "It is a priceless trove of-- Its value lies not only in what it can make, but what it can teach!" He begins to stroke it, tenderly. "The devices are of course useful in themselves, but also in what they can teach us, from their construction. It is as though a piece of advanced alien technology had fallen intact from the skies, for us to--"
"Yeah yeah, you can stop jerking off to it now. And now that you've got it from us, what are you gonna do to Will and me?"
Shoot us in the head and dump us in a ditch, you think bitterly to yourself, after the way you've lipped off to him.
Instead, he quietly says, "I'm going to offer you a position in our organization."
Even Patterson seems taken aback, and lets the professor continue without challenge.
"Of course. That was another of Mr. Kim's strokes of wit. In interrogating you he came to appreciate the, ah, skill and initiative and ingenuity that the two of you showed in executing your astonishing coup de main. You acted boldly and decisively, and would have succeeded utterly if not for a mistake you unfortunately lacked the resources to rectify."
Patterson glares, then blinks as the professor turns his full attention on you.
"Especially you, Mr. Prescott. We are all of us in--" He raises his hands. "We are in awe of your accomplishments!"
"Me?" You wish it hadn't come out as a squeak.
"Why, yes. Did you not succeed in replacing and impersonating two members of the Stellae Errantes?"
"Who?" Patterson demands roughly.
"The Stellae Errantes." The professor pulls a sheet of paper from his briefcase and slides on some half-rim spectacles. "I believe they were operating under the aliases of 'Frank and Joe Durras'."
"Them?" Patterson says. "What's so special about--"
"I am quite through talking to you for the moment," Hyde-White says sharply. "Your question answers mine, that it was Mr. Prescott who was responsible for that masterstroke." He smiles brightly at you.
"Well, yeah," you say. "I got lucky and managed to stick them under some--"
"And used them most capably, it appears, in furtherance of your own ends." He beams at you. "As for it only being a matter of luck, that was the question the great Bonaparte always put when it was his task to promote a man. 'Has he luck'? We at Fane, no less than Napoleon, believe in luck. We prize it. We seek it. We reward it. We want you with us, Mr. Prescott." He extends his hand.
You stare at it. When thrust in your face, his fingers seem bony and fleshless. There are hollows about his eyes. The skin is pulled tight across his wide forehead, and his lips shrivel against his gleaming teeth.
He doesn't seem offended by the way you don't take his proffered hand, but his expression falters a little as he withdraws it.
"And what about me?" Patterson demands. You look quickly at him, for there seemed a whine in his voice.
"Oh yes, you, Mr. Patterson." The professor glances only briefly at him before looking back down at his notes. "It's all here. 'Organizational proficiency, managerial skill'," he mutters in a quick breath. "Yes, I think we can find you a junior position someplace, after an extended course in management training." He returns eagerly to you.
You do feel like you have to ask something. "Excuse me," you say meekly. "But I didn't catch what you said about 'Fane' and what it is."
"Oh, didn't I clarify? Forgive me." He sits forward, bending the intense gaze upon you. "It is rather a complicated subject, for it is rather a complicated object, or set of objects. It is an interlocking group of cooperative enterprises, some of a public nature, some of a private; some corporate and economic, others charitable or educational. We call it, collectively, 'Fane', for they all share the same general purpose, interest and intent--" A shadow of amusement briefly passes over his face. "But you will find a wide variety of enterprises that share the Fane name, though little else. At least, nothing apparent to the cursory, curious eye."
That really doesn't tell you anything. You caught the word "corporate," though, and Hyde-White threw the word "management" at Patterson, so you figure there's a big Wall Street company involved. Or whatever the English equivalent of "Wall Street" would be. "What kind of job would I have?" you ask.
"That," he says, folding his hands, "would not be apparent to us yet. I said we valued you for the skill and luck you showed in dealing with the sinister Stellae. But skill and luck, in their general manifestation, can be applied specifically in many disparate areas."
You just blink.
"I think we would put you," Hyde-White continues , "in a variety of positions, and saw where you flourished."
"I don't know how to do anything," you whine at the professor. "I'm just a kid."
"You are a prodigy," he says. "That is enough. Leave the matter of your training to us. We will be quite patient, I assure you. Nor will it be especially difficult, I think."
"How come?"
"Why, Mr. Prescott, if there is one thing you have already shown a decided talent for, it is at doing other people's jobs. Because you seem to have a talent for being other people."
You blink again as he lifts the book. "We would just use this to turn you into other people, and you could learn to do their jobs yourself.
"So. Will you accept?"
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