When I met up with--wait, have to remember that he's 'Sci' now--when I met up with Sci, we managed to miss every single train between Grand Central and the Mendellian Mission to the UN. We did more running in that half an hour than I'd done in the previous week--and the subways of New York are not the most comfortable place to be running around.
By the time we got back to the building, there were beads of sweat across my forehead. As we approached the building, Sci stopped and opened that bag he'd been carrying. I had a pretty good idea what he was getting, and so I wasn't too surprised when he tossed me a largish bath towel with a small green '42' and a recognizable green face with arms stitched into two of the corners. I dried my face and tossed it back. "Always know where your towel is."
But, though I was tired from the run, there was no way I was going to let a little thing like catching my breath stop me from trading stories with one of my dearest friends. So, I dropped my bag off in my bedroom and Sci and I pulled up chairs by the fireplace.
It started with simple gossip on old friends--Darric, Galorean, and the like--but quickly turned to what Sci had been doing since we had seen each other last, about six months ago.
"Well, some of what I've been doing is classified, of course, but I've probably already told you more than I should. I've managed to keep busy, what with saving the world, keeping track of all the extraterrestrials on the planet, and getting yelled at by various officials. And you?"
"Oh, this and that. I'm probably going to go into politics soon."
"National?"
"I was actually thinking of the UN itself."
"We always said you'd do that."
"Yeah, I know. Doesn't matter."
"Oh, hang on. There's someone you should meet. While I'm up, something to drink?"
"Water would be great."
He came back about five minutes later with two glasses of water and, following him, what looked like a grey version of Artoo Detoo. I smiled and accepted the glass. "Your counterpart?"
He nodded, and the droid beeped, then spoke. "Pleased to meet you, Bringer of Water. Or should I say, Judge Who Brings Water To The Thirsty In The Desert?" The voice was instantly recognizeable. Sci just smiled.
"Araneithel, meet R2-N8, alias Nat. Nat, as you're aware, this is my good friend Araneithel." She beeped again.
We fell back to talking, trading between small talk and serious, stories and debate, argument and agreement, until about two in the morning, when the woman who'd been reading Ender's Game, Sylvana, closed the book and sighed. I looked over at her and smiled. "Did you like the book?"
"It is very sad. Are there others?" There are, in fact, at least five others, but none are anywhere near Game. Sci, however, saved me the trouble of answering.
"There are, in fact, several others. They're a mixed bag of quality, but all are worth reading." Which summed it up pretty well. We watched as Sylvana and her brother Arrek argued whether she could go out in New York alone--the handgun ended that argument. I was surprised, but Sci took it in stride. He's really been polishing the whole "implacable" image. I guess in his line of work that's a major plus.
After she left, the other woman--Bethany--went to bed, and Arrek wandered off. Sci and I just stayed up talking. It was about five when Sylvana returned and went to bed. Seeing as we weren't due in the UN until the next day, and given how we'd been sleeping, we had decided to eschew sleep that night and simply turn in at a reasonable time the next night.
For extremely unusual values of "reasonable," of course.
The next morning, after talking half the night and goofing off the other half, I showered, changed, and Sci and I went to waste a day in New York City, which is amazingly easy if you know where to look.