Date: Sun, 19 Dec 2021 20:36:20 +0000 (UTC)
From: Samuel Stefanik <churchphilips@yahoo.com>
Subject: Crown Vic to a Parallel World: The Beginning.   chapter 12

HI!!  HELLO!!  Welcome to Chapter 12.  Church seems to have found himself
in a strange place with some strange powers and now his chaperone is afraid
of him.  What's a guy to do?  He's got to soldier on as best he can.  These
next chapters are going to be about our 'hero' exploring some of his new
surroundings.  I hope you enjoy them.

If you're younger than 18 or find these kinds of stories offensive, please
close up now and have a great day!  If you are of legal age and are
interested, by all means keep going.  I'll be glad to have you along for
the journey.  Please donate to Nifty.  This is a great resource for great
stories and a useful outlet to authors like me and readers like you.

12

The Breakfast Gawker

I woke up with a hangover and realized I'd slept in my clothes.  Neither of
those things was interesting or new.  Two things were weird...well, far
more than two things, but two struck me as I opened my eyes.  The first was
Shawn's presence in my mind.  He was awake and thinking.  His fear wasn't
as intense as the night before, but his overriding emotion was concern with
anxiety thrown in for flavor.  The second was waking up without craving a
smoke.  I couldn't remember ever opening my eyes and not immediately
lighting up.

"Thanks, Shawn." I said to the ceiling.

I sat up in bed to think.  I needed to give Shawn space, I needed to occupy
myself for the day, I needed coffee.  "One thing at a time." I said aloud
and stripped for a shower.  I threw my clothes in a heap in the corner of
the room and made my stumbling way into the bathroom.  On the back of the
door were more clothes; two shades of green this time.  I wondered if I
should wear my blue heels or the red.  Then I wondered why I wondered.  I
half-suspected Shawn, the only possible source of the clothes, was making
fun of me.  Two shades of green had to be a fashion faux pas on any world.
I shrugged that thought away and decided on the blue heels.

I brushed my teeth and splashed cold water on my face to get my eyes open.
Not having the wake-up cigarette meant getting my brain running on all
eight was harder than usual.  I leaned on the sink and looked in the
mirror.  My reflection told me I needed a shave, but there was no razor
handy.  I thought about calling the desk to ask for one, but figured
another day without a shave wouldn't kill me.  I cleaned up, dressed, and
went down to breakfast.

I asked about breakfast at the desk and was directed back to the hotel bar.
In the morning, it served as a fully-automated breakfast establishment.  I
knew what to do to order and assumed that knowledge somehow came from
Shawn.  As I sat at the bar, the glass bar top became a touch screen with
images of breakfast food.  I touched a bunch of them, entered my room
number, and rested my chin on my fist with my elbow on the bar to wait.
The bar back reflection showed me that the restaurant was doing better
business that morning than it had the night before.  The place was crowded
with colorful people chatting and enjoying meals.

A few moments later, a clear glass tray rose from behind the bar and slid
in front of me.  On it was an oval plate covered in eggs, potatoes, and
bacon, a pot of black coffee with an empty mug, a large orange juice, a
stack of buttered toast, salt, pepper, ketchup, silverware, and a napkin.
I brimmed the mug with coffee, covered most of the plate with ketchup, and
dug in.

A stocky, middle-aged man in two shades of blue sat next to me and nodded
in my direction.  It was one of those `we're strangers, but good morning to
you' nods.  I nodded back and shoveled potatoes into my face.  The man
glanced at my plate, looked up at me, rubbed his eyes, and stared.  My
polite disappeared.  I rotated on my stool to face him.  "Can I help you,
pal?" I growled.  My tone was shittier than I intended, but between the
complete insanity of my situation, Shawn's fear, magic power, shared
memories, and now a breakfast gawker, I'd had enough.

His mouth opened and hung that way for a moment before he mustered an
answer.  "I...uh...uhm...sorry.  Thought I knew you."  He stammered.

It was a lie and he knew it and I knew it.  I decided not to pursue it.  I
offered my hand and he shook it.  "Church."  I said.

"Gitec."  He replied.

I felt a little bold and really wanted someone to talk to about anything at
all.  I invited him to eat with me.  "I'm a stranger here.  Why don't you
let me buy you breakfast and you do me the honor of joining me?  I could
use a little conversation to wake my brain up."

He waved a hand in the air.  "Awww...you don't hafta do that."  He had a
deep, lazy voice that mangled his consonants and smeared his syllables.

"No, I don't, but I'd like to.  Just punch my room number in when you
order.  It's 428.  I'll get us a table."  I said and waited for a reaction.

"Sure...sure," he waved again, "anything ya' say.  Be right along."

I stood up and his eyes followed me up.  They bulged as I reached my full
height.  I met his gaze and he dropped his eyes to the touch screen on the
bar.  I felt very visible as I scanned the room for an empty table.  I
found one and quickly claimed it.

Gitec joined me, his eyes were back in his head.  His tray held two
over-easy eggs, two bacon strips, one slice of buttered toast, and one mug
of coffee with cream and maybe sugar.  I had a qualm about the gluttonous
meal in front of me in comparison to his modest breakfast.  `Fuck it.' I
thought with a mental shrug.

"What do you do?"  I asked to break the ice.

He made me wait while he ate a strip of bacon.  He nibbled it from one end
to the other like a rabbit with a piece of lettuce.  He inspected the
grease left on his fingers, licked one of them, and wiped the rest on his
napkin.  "I'm-a culinarian tuner.  Go all over.  Gotta keep those buggers
in shape.  Outta tune...ruin a reputation."

The word `confused' must have been stamped on my forehead in capital
letters.  He took a careful bite of toast, checked his fingers again, and
elaborated.  "The kitchen machine...makes the food...ya'know...the
synthesizer."

I shook my head as I chewed.  He ate an egg and winked at me.  "Messin' wit
me?"

I shook my head again.  "K," he shrugged, "guess some folks don't know
ev'rything.  Powder...`base' they call-it, made fr'm plants, comes in bags.
Fill the hopper, punch the button, eggs'n bacon, toast'n jam, steak'n
greens, anyth'ng ya' want.  I'm a guy makes sure it's right."

I held up a bacon strip.  "This is plants?"

"Yep." He nodded his enthusiastic agreement. "`Cept it's not.  `Zactly the
same's meat...but didn't hafta kill it.  See?"

I thought about the porterhouse Beni brought me.  "I had a steak last
night..."

"Plants." He asserted.

I looked into my half-demolished breakfast and was stunned to find out that
there were no animal products on my tray.  "Fuck me." I said.

"Can't now." He shook his head. "Later?  Be done work't four."

I didn't understand what he said.  I felt like I missed something, but I
didn't know what it was.  "What?  Later for what?" I asked.

"A'fuckin.  Hafta get some climbin' tackle f'r you big man."  He went back
to his plate, slid his remaining egg onto what was left of his toast and
nibbled away at both.

I played what he said over in my head but couldn't make heads or tails of
it.  I reasoned it over again slowly and understanding hit me like a brick
to the face.  `He thinks I just asked him to have sex with me...and he
agreed if I can work with his schedule!'

"I'm sorry!" I blurted.  He looked up, but didn't stop nibbling.  "I didn't
mean...ah-shit...what I said is an expression where I come from.  It's like
`wow.'  I didn't just proposition you."

He made me wait while he finished nibbling.  I worried he'd be offended.  I
hoped he wouldn't be.  He wasn't.  "That's fine." He said with another
shallow shrug. "Confusin's all.  Change yer mind, be here till Tuesd'y.  Be
fun."

I nodded my mortified head and went back to my plate.  He finished his
bacon and coffee, shook my hand with a greasy paw, and left.  I watched him
walk away.  He wasn't bad looking for a guy who appeared to be five or ten
years my senior.  He carried his extra weight well and moved with
confidence.  The nonchalant discussion about casual sex surprised me.
Shawn had explained the culture, but forty years on Earth made it difficult
to believe.

`Maybe you should.' I thought. `Wouldn't have to be so self-conscious with
someone your age, someone who carries some weight.'  I shoved those
thoughts aside as ridiculous.  Not only did Shawn have to initiate sex with
me, he basically had to pounce on me.  The idea that I'd be confident
enough to enter into intimacy with a stranger was even crazier than the
rest of my situation.

I finished breakfast, pushed my tray into a slot in the wall shaped like a
tray, and ambled into the lobby to come up with a plan for the day.  Shawn
was still upstairs, his mood impatient.  I guessed he wanted breakfast but
wanted me somewhere else before he came down.  I checked my pockets to see
if I had everything I needed for a day on my own.  I felt around for my
cigarettes and lighter before I realized I didn't need them anymore.  I
also found myself looking for my car keys before I realized I had no use
for them either.  I had my wallet and my new ID, but no Solum money.  That
was the missing piece.

I started for the elevators, changed my mind and my course mid-way, and
went to the desk.  The young woman who thought Shawn and I were newlyweds
was unoccupied.  I stepped up to her station and shot a question at her
before she acknowledged me.  "Is there a place I can call my room?" I
asked.

"You can do that right here."  She said brightly and looked up from
whatever she was doing behind the counter.  She saw me and froze.

I rubbed my neck in frustration at the raw, wide-eyed disbelief on her
face.  "I promise it's not catchy." I grouched at her.

"I don't understand." She muttered.

"Size...my size is not contagious...OK?" I demanded.

She flushed deep-red and lowered her eyes in embarrassment.  "I'm sorry for
being rude.  It must be uncomfortable, people must stare."

"They do and it is." I admitted. "I accept your apology.  Would you ring my
room, please?  428."

She did as I asked and got Shawn on the line.  "I want to go out today," I
explained into the flat, black receiver, "but I don't have any money."

His fear increased, almost to panic.  "I haven't had breakfast yet."  He
objected irrelevantly.

"I'm not asking for your company.  I can go out on my own.  I'm a big boy."
The woman at the desk heard me say this and smirked.  I winked at her.  "I
just want some cash or credits or tokens or shekels or whatever you people
use for currency."

"But you don't know the city."

I was getting angry at his objections.  He didn't want to be near me and
when I wanted to spend time alone, he threw up road blocks.  I growled into
the phone.  "Shawn...listen carefully, I'm forty fucking years old and I
live in Phila-fucking-delphia.  I can get around any city, anywhere,
especially one that speaks fucking English.  I want some walking around
cash.  Do I get it from you or do I call your uncle and get it from him?"

Shawn sighed into the phone.  His emotions had shifted to resignation and I
felt he was about to give in.  "We use credits here.  Everything is linked
to your ID.  I'll make sure there's a positive balance.  Are you sure you
don't need me to go with you?"

"No, I don't.  I expressed-ly do NOT want you with me.  You do you and I'll
do me.  See you at The HALL Monday morning at 8AM.  Goodbye."  I handed the
phone back to the girl at the desk.  I heard Shawn shouting but couldn't
pick out the words.  I felt frustration and worry come through our link.

The desk girl accepted the receiver, listened to it, and held it toward me.
I shook my head.  She hung it up without a word.  I got my new ID from my
wallet and waved it to her.  "Do you know how to check the balance on one
of these?"

She showed me that if I pressed my thumb on a spot on the back of the card,
red numbers would flash and show the balance.  I did as she said and a
number popped up.  I didn't know what the number meant, so I asked the
girl.  "It says one-hundred-thousand.  Is that a lot?"

She nodded vigorously.  "That's more than double what I make in a year."

"Very generous, Ars.  Thank you."  I said to myself and stuck the card back
in my wallet.

I debated over asking her to call a taxi, or hiring a car with a driver, or
trying my luck with public transportation.  Each had possibilities and
pitfalls.  In the end I decided to take public transportation.  I knew
their were busses, I'd seen them when Shawn was driving us to and from The
HALL.  I figured that would put me as close to the city and its residents
as possible.  I wanted to meet the people, to understand them and my new
environment better.  The desk woman directed me to a bus stop at the edge
of the property.