Mission Improbable-2
PrologueON CATERPILLAR TRACKS, the mechanical alien trundled to the ocean’s edge, where a sluggish liquid flopped onto the sand, withdrew and flopped again, under a deep violet sky. The alien inserted a tube beneath the ripples. Suction commenced, accompanied by a low vibration. As the extracted liquid gurgled and slurped, the mechanical alien transmitted a message to central command: Operation progressing satisfactorily.
Unnoticed, in the glimmering darkness beyond the shoreline, a wave appeared. Unnoticed, the wave approached slowly, silently, stealthily. Unnoticed, it loomed like a predatory beast. With a dreadful, dull splash, the wave fell. When it withdrew, the sand was bare.
Central command’s communications went unanswered. It never heard from the mechanical alien again.
Chapter One – Through The Glowing Green MistCARRIE HATCHETT’S INTERVIEWER, Ms. Bass, had no eyebrows. Or, rather, she had pretend eyebrows. About halfway between the naked ridges where her natural eyebrows once grew and her hairline were two thinly drawn, semi-circular lines. A cloud of bouffant grey hair circled her head.
Carrie watched the pretend eyebrows to see if they moved along with the rest of Ms. Bass’ face, but they did not. No expression seemed to register on them. They were independent, only supervising the action going on below. Carrie was sure of it because she watched for several minutes while Ms. Bass’ voice droned in her ears.
But then a sharp frown drew the eyebrows down until they were almost within a natural distance of her eyes.
“Ms. Hatchett? Ms. Hatchett? Did you hear what I just said? Are you listening?”
Carrie, startled, forced her gaze down to Ms. Bass’ face, and flinched at her stony look. “What? I’m sorry? What did you say?”
“I said, your CV doesn’t mention any call centre experience.”
“That’s right, I’ve never worked in a call centre.” Carrie fidgeted. The rent on her new flat was expensive. She needed this job. And she wanted it. For once in her life, she was going to be a success. She was determined.
Ms. Bass lowered Carrie’s CV to the table. “You are aware the position you’re interviewing for is supervisor of a call centre?”
“Yes.”
“But you’ve never worked in a call centre before?”
“No.”
“Ms. Hatchett, do you even know what goes on in call centres?”
“People...” Carrie recalled the office cubicles she had passed when she came in, which had been full of people wearing headsets, speaking into microphones, and watching computer screens. “...take calls?” She twisted a ring around her middle finger. She should have done some research before coming to the interview, but she had been busy unpacking and getting Toodles and Rogue settled into their new home.
Ms. Bass sighed and leafed through Carrie’s CV. She frowned. “What’s Bagua Zhang?”
“It’s a martial art. I’m a—”
Waving a hand to silence her, the woman cleared her throat. “So, you’ve worked in a florist’s, been a professional dog walker, spent a summer selling ice-cream and worked as a...” She removed her glasses and squinted, moving the paper away from her face. “A birthday telegram girl?”
“Yes, but the clean kind. You know, teddy bears, rabbits, Disney princesses, that kind of thing. Not the...” Carrie swallowed. “...the other kind.” She pulled her skirt closer to her knees.
Ms. Bass locked eyes with Carrie for a silent moment, then placed the CV on her desk. She picked up a checklist and began ticking boxes.
“You don’t suffer any chronic illnesses, do you?”
“No.”
“Mental illness? Depression?”
“No.”
“Good. That’s very good.” Ms. Bass nodded. “We have enough of that around here as it is.”
She ticked a few more boxes. Carrie leaned forward to read the list, but Ms. Bass curled the paper up and away from her, smiling tightly. “Excuse me a moment.” She got up from her desk, taking the checklist with her, and went to her office door. She peered down the corridor towards the chairs where Carrie had sat, alone, while waiting to be called in. She left, leaving the door ajar, and a moment later her shrill voice echoed up the corridor. “No one else applied at all? Not even a phone call?”
Carrie couldn’t make out the reply but she soon heard footsteps thumping closer. Ms. Bass entered, sat and put on her glasses. Gathering up the papers on her desk, she fixed Carrie with a glare.
“When can you start?”
Carrie’s mouth fell open. “You mean I’ve—?”
“Yes, yes. What’s the earliest you can start? Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Yes, I think I can start tomorrow.”
“Good. Nine o’clock. I’ll put you on the day shift, but we’re open twenty-four hours and at other times you might have to do the evening or graveyard shift. Okay?” It was more of a challenge than a question.
Carrie opened her mouth.
“We can sort out the details tomorrow. See you then, Ms...Ms...” Ms. Bass stood and held out her hand.
“Hatchett.” Carrie shook the offered hand.
“Ms. Hatchett. Welcome to the team.”
***
