45: Dreams and Races

The game room was empty when they arrived, which made it all the better as far as Alex and Derek were concerned. As Derek racked the balls, he said, "This Farrell sounds like he’s losing it. That can make him doubly dangerous. When he realizes you’re not following orders, what will he do?"

"That certainly is the question," Alex answered as he lifted down a couple of cues, handing one to Derek. "He did give me until Thanksgiving, though sending me the termination order sounds as if he’s pushing the deadline up. To tell you the truth, this is all rather new to me. I’m not used to having someone pulling the strings. Until now, I’ve always had carte blanche with regards to how I handle a particular assignment and the Powers That Be were apparently happy to let me do things in my own way and in my own time. I don’t know what’s changed so that Farrell ends up calling the shots."

Derek fished out a quarter from his pocket. "Call," he ordered as he flipped it into the air, catching it neatly.

"Heads," Alex replied.

"It’s tails," Derek said, showing him the coin. He shoved the quarter in his pocket and proceeded to line the cue ball up to make the break shot. "Tell me about what happened at the Safeway," he said as they watched the balls roll in all directions. The solid blue ball dropped into one of the side pockets and Derek walked around the table, aiming at the solid red ball. It just missed going into the pocket at which he was aiming and now Alex began lining up for his shot, aiming at the yellow striped ball.

"The Agency sent eight other agents into the field, but I never knew who they were," Alex explained as he watched the ball go into a side pocket and moved around the table to line up his next shot. "All I had were email addresses. I decided that with Farrell in charge of the eight other agents, I was outnumbered. I needed to level the playing field a bit more." He went on to describe what happened as he landed another shot, sending the green striped ball into a corner pocket. He missed his next shot and Derek took his turn.

"So, first you tell Farrell that McKinley and Elwood are not the same person, then you say they are and you make an arrangement for a pick-up which goes all wrong, thanks to our friendly, neighborhood Elves." Alex chuckled at that. "Damn! I can’t believe I missed such an easy shot," Derek exclaimed as he watched the solid green ball come to the lip of a side pocket without actually falling into it. As Alex took his turn, Derek continued his summation. "So now, we have to convince Farrell that you were completely mistaken, that McKinley isn’t Elwood after all and the people who interrupted the pick-up didn’t want McKinley to go with you guys for reasons unknown. Does that about sum it up?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Alex said as he watched the red striped ball carom against one of the cushions then roll across the table to fall into a corner pocket. "Looking back, I shouldn’t have arranged for that sting, but I wasn’t expecting things to turn out as they have. No, no, don’t do that. Don’t do that! Arg!" Derek chuckled at Alex’s antics as they watched the cue ball follow the brown striped ball into the pocket.

"Scratch," he said as he reached down and pulled both balls out, casually throwing the striped ball onto the table to knock against a couple of other balls before settling down while he took the cue ball and set it where he wished to make the next shot, easily placing the solid green ball into the pocket before which it was sitting, just avoiding putting the cue ball into the same pocket, and then proceeding to place the solid purple ball into the opposite pocket, thus evening up the number of balls pocketed. He spent a minute deciding on his next shot, aiming for the solid orange ball, but it caromed off two of the cushions and ended up hitting another ball and stopping. Derek uttered an oath while Alex grinned, adding more chalk to the tip of the cue as he analyzed the table, deciding which shot to make.

"So, what we need to do," Derek said, continuing the conversation as Alex leaned across the table, aiming at the blue striped ball, "is to neutralize Farrell."

"Kill him, you mean?" Alex asked as he watched the ball fall into a corner pocket.

"No. I mean neutralize him, make him inoperable. Discredit him before your bosses, so that anything he does or says about you or Amroth or anything else is disbelieved."

"That’s a tall order," Alex said with a frown. "I’m not even sure where to begin setting something like that up. If I knew...."

He was interrupted by the door opening and they looked up to see Glorfindel standing there giving them an amused smile. "Still at it, I see. You should be in bed. It’s late and you have a busy day ahead of you."

"What do you mean?" Alex asked. "We finished touring the resorts and all on Tuesday."

"Ah, but tomorrow we’re doing something special," Glorfindel answered, moving further into the room, glancing at the pool table.

"And would you care to enlighten us?" Derek asked.

"No. It’s a surprise," Glorfindel replied. "Now, you really should finish this game or call it and get some sleep."

"Do you ever sleep?" Derek asked and Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at the outrageous question.

"Of course, but Elves have the ability to go a long time without true sleep. We can weave waking dreams which refresh us even though we are wide awake. Many of the older Elves I knew in Aman had not bothered to engage in true sleep in centuries, for they no longer needed it. I suspect they were on the brink of fading, a condition that apparently is built into our genetic make up but living in Aman slows the process. Now, do I need to shoo you off to bed like bad little boys?"

"I’d like to see you try," Alex said with a grin. "Actually, we’re trying to figure out how to discredit Farrell before his superiors in the Agency as a means of getting rid of him and hopefully getting the Agency off our backs as well."

"And that is certainly a worthy goal and we can discuss it at a more reasonable hour," Glorfindel said, "but in the meantime, I really think you should go to bed."

"Yes, Nana. Anything you say, Nana," Alex retorted.

"Why don’t you play with us?" Derek suddenly asked, holding out his cue to Glorfindel. "I’m playing the solid colors. It’s still Alex’s turn, but we can let you go first and Alex and I will take turns playing the striped balls."

"And if I agree to this, will you go to bed without protest?" Glorfindel asked.

"Yeah, we’ll be good little boys and go straight to bed," Derek promised with a sardonic grin. "Sheesh, you sound like my grandma when I was six trying to get me to go to bed. Will you tuck us in and tell us a bedtime story as well?"

Glorfindel laughed as he took the proffered cue and proceeded to line up his shot. Unlike the Mortals, who hadn’t bothered, he actually called the shot. "Yellow in the left corner pocket," he said just before he hit the cue ball and they watched the yellow solid ball carom off a cushion and land neatly into the designated corner pocket. "Brown in the right side pocket," he said and they watched the ball carom twice off the cushion and then go into the right side pocket. Alex and Derek glanced at each other with almost identical scowls while Glorfindel lined up his next shot, this time with the solid orange ball. "Orange ball to the right corner pocket along with the red ball."

"Okay, now this I have to see," Derek muttered and Alex nodded in agreement for the position of the two balls in question defied proper alignment, yet when the orange ball was struck its trajectory was precise and it hit the red ball with enough force to send it across the table into the designated pocket with the orange ball right behind it. Both Mortals sighed. Glorfindel gave them a sly grin.

"Hey, why aren’t you aiming for the eightball?" Alex asked as he saw Glorfindel line up to apparently shoot at the purple striped ball.

"Too easy," Glorfindel said dismissively and then proceeded to neatly pocket all the remaining striped balls, calling every shot accurately so that, within a matter of minutes, only the eightball was on the table and, almost negligently, the Elf-lord sent the eightball caroming off three cushions before rolling down the length of the table to fall into the left corner pocket even as he had predicted. He straightened from his shot, giving the Mortals a wide grin. "Game over. Now to bed."

Both Alex and Derek sighed. "Remind me never to play poker with you," Derek said to Glorfindel as Alex hung up his cue. Glorfindel laughed and it was such a joyous laugh that the two Mortals couldn’t help grinning in spite of themselves.

"Good night, sleep tight, and may your dreams be pleasant," Glorfindel said as he ushered them out the door, turning off the lights and closing it.

"Good night," both Mortals said as they headed for the stairs. Ten minutes later they were both sound asleep.

****

Sometime in the night, Alex dreamt...

He was back at the Agency, heading for his office, a small cubicle in a sea of cubicles on the fourth floor of the building. When he arrived, though, he discovered someone waiting for him, sitting in the chair behind his desk.

It was Paul Jackson, his one-time friend and co-worker whom he had had to kill on orders from the Agency. Jackson looked up and smiled. "Have a seat, Meriwether," he said.

"Excuse me? What are you doing in my chair, Jackson? And aren’t you supposed to be dead?"

Jackson waved a hand in dismissal. "A minor detail which we can ignore for the moment. Sit down, old man, and let’s talk."

At Jackson calling him ‘old man’, a rush of memories came forward. It had been an inside joke between them, for it turned out that they were the same age and their birthdays were only one day apart with Alex being the older. Jackson had teased him by calling him ‘old man’ and he had retaliated by calling Jackson ‘Junior’. Alex sat in the chair before the desk, warily watching this man before him, who had been the closest thing to a friend that he had in the Agency and who had betrayed that friendship at the very end. Jackson, for his part, was shuffling through a bunch of papers, as if looking for a particular item. Finally, he looked up.

"You know, you are one sorry excuse for an agent," he said.

"Hello! I’m the best and you’re dead... Junior," Alex protested.

"You’re only alive because I screwed up," Jackson said with equanimity.

"Even if you had managed to kill me, your days were numbered," Alex retorted. "You wouldn’t have lived long enough to enjoy your escape from my hands. Now, just why the hell are you in my dream?"

"Believe it or not, I’m here to help you out of your little dilemma," Jackson replied with a smirk, one that Alex recognized from years before.

"Oh?"

Jackson nodded. "You’ve been going about this all wrong. Look, old man, you’ve been doing the Lone Wolf McQuade routine for so long you’ve forgotten how to play nicely with others. Look around you. What do you see?"

Alex complied. "A lot of cubicles just like this one."

"And what is inside those cubicles?"

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Other agents," he replied.

Jackson nodded. "Exactly. Other agents. Co-workers. Allies. Contacts. Shanna Machell, for instance."

"Who?"

Jackson gave him a disbelieving look. "Hello! Shanna Machell? The blond bombshell who sits in the cubicle next to yours?" He pointed to his right. "Who’s had a crush on you since day one. Who probably has an IQ higher than everyone on this floor, including you. Who’s a whiz in strategy."

"Has she ever been in the field?" Alex asked. "Because if she hasn’t, then she’s just another pencil-pusher as far as I’m concerned. And she does not have a crush on me."

Jackson sneered. "You wish. But to answer your question: no, she’s never had the pleasure of being out in the field, but that doesn’t mean she’s not useful. There is very little she doesn’t know about everyone who works here... including Mark Farrell."

Alex sat back, narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Jackson sighed. "You’re dumber than dirt, aren’t you, old man. Look. What’s the first thing you need before you go out on an assignment?"

"Intelligence," Alex answered readily enough.

"Bingo! Give the man a cigar," Jackson retorted with a sardonic look. "What you lack, my boy, is intelligence, and you can take that either way you please. You need dirt on Farrell if you’re going to discredit him, right? Well, Shanna Machell is the person to see for that. If she doesn’t know it or can’t find it, no one on this good earth ever will."

"So I should contact Shanna and ask her about Farrell, is that what you’re telling me?"

Jackson nodded. "Yes, exactly. There are forces in the Agency inimical to you and your new friends, but there are also allies, if you just look for them. Now, our time is up, so this is goodbye, old man. Take care of yourself and someday I’ll see you on the other side."

Before Alex could respond to that, Jackson, the cubicle, the entire floor of the building, dissolved and then he was plunging into deep sleep once again....

*Do you think it will work?* Fionwë asked Olórin as the two watched as Alex half-woke and shifted his position before settling down again, slipping effortlessly back into a dreamless state.

*We’ll have to see,* Olórin replied. *With Mortals, it’s always difficult to get them to pay attention.*

*The Eldar are easier that way,* Fionwë said, his aura brightening with amusement.

*Sometimes,* Olórin retorted, his own aura giving off sparks of yellow, indicating laughter. Then the two thought themselves elsewhere, leaving the Mortals to their rest.

****

When Alex woke, the name Shanna Machell rang through his mind. He wasn’t sure why, for he couldn’t remember dreaming and the name meant very little to him. He knew who she was, but that was about it. Yet, the fact that he woke with her name on his lips, so to speak, was important. He glanced around and saw that Derek was already up and gone, no doubt taking a shower, so he climbed out of bed and sat at his desk, opening his laptop and once he had access to his email account, he sent off an encrypted email addressed to Shanna. A quick calculation informed him that it was nearly noon for her, so maybe she would get the email after her lunch break. He shut the laptop down just as Derek entered the room.

"Morning," he said with a smile. "If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss breakfast."

"I’m on it," Alex said, rising from his chair and grabbing a towel and other shower paraphernalia. "I’ll meet you at the cafeteria."

"Good enough," Derek said as he hung up his towel.

Alex hurried to the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t have to wait long for a shower, but he lucked out and there was one free, so he was back in his room and dressing shortly thereafter. He made his way down the hall toward the cafeteria and joined the others in line. He was soon seated across from Derek.

"I wonder what Loren meant about us being busy today," he said quietly as he buttered his whole wheat toast and smeared strawberry jam on it.

Derek shrugged. "We’ll find out soon enough," he said philosophically. "I’m a little leery about people who say that something is a surprise. Usually that means I’m not going to like it."

Alex smiled. "Too true. Oh well, whatever."

They were finishing up their breakfast when they saw Barahir enter the cafeteria and go to the bulletin board where messages were posted, clearing a space on it and pinning a poster. Then, without a word or a backward glance, he left and Alex noticed that he still favored the leg that had been cut during the sword fight. He gave Derek a glance and then almost at the same time they rose to go see what the poster said. Others were also crowding around, commenting on the message.

"Races?" Derek asked.

"That’s what it says," Alex responded. "We’re to wear warm clothes and meet outside at nine thirty. That gives us about forty-five minutes."

"Well, if we’re going to be outside for any length of time, I’m getting myself another cup of coffee," Derek said and Alex grinned as he followed his roommate back to their table. They sat for about fifteen minutes enjoying their coffee. Others were still there and the conversations appeared to center around what kind of races they were going to be participating in. Finally, though, they went back to their room and undressed to put on warm clothes before joining their classmates outside where buses were waiting for them. They climbed in and took their seats and soon they were off. Once on the James Dalton highway, the buses turned south and after nearly an hour, took the turn-off leading towards Evansville and Bettles, finally stopping at the Northern Lights Holiday Resort, which lay just outside Evansville.

Some of the instructors were there to greet them, directing everyone toward the main lodge where they all congregated in the dining hall. Glorfindel was there with the other Elves and once everyone was more or less settled he addressed them. "We thought we would give you a break from your schedule. The people who run this resort were kind enough to lend us their facilities for the day. We’re going to have a mini-Iditarod race between here and Bettles." He held up a hand as people began commenting. "Now, not everyone can be a part of the race, unfortunately, but we have other activities in mind, so if you aren’t participating in that race, you’ll still have plenty of things to keep you occupied. How we will do this is to draw lots. We have ten dog sled teams. Each team will have eight mushers. Four will start here at the resort and the other four will be driven to the Aurora Borealis Ski Resort near Bettles where you will await your team. You will start out with two mushers for each leg of the race with one musher in the sled. It’s about ten miles between here and and the resort. At the halfway mark, you will stop and switch places. When you reach the resort, you will then give the team over to the next two mushers, who will return here to give the team over to the next two and then the last two mushers will come back here and the race will be over."

He paused for a moment and motioned for four of the Elves to station themselves at a corner of the room. Each held a large pot.

"Inside these pots," Glorfindel said, "are colored balls. Eighty of them are white. If you select a white ball you are in the race. If you select any other color, you’ll be doing something else, so hang on to your balls. If you receive a white ball and feel you don’t wish to participate, you are free to exchange your ball with that of one of your friends. Anyone with a white ball should make your way outside through this door over here and wait for further instructions. Everyone else stay here and we’ll let you know what you’ll be doing as soon as we’ve got the racers set. So pick a corner and good luck."

Alex and Derek walked over to the corner where Amroth was holding up the pot just high enough so no one could see inside as they reached for a ball. They had to wait a bit before they got to the front.

"It’s unlikely that we’ll both end up in the dog-sled race," Derek said.

"Or that we’ll even get the same colored ball," Alex commented with a nod.

"It’s like my dream," Derek said.

Alex gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"Don’t you remember? I told you how I kept dreaming of being in the Iditarod before coming here."

"Oh yeah," Alex said with a nod. "So, if you get a white ball, it means your dream will have come true, sort of."

"Yeah. Weird, isn’t it?"

Then they were at the front of the line facing Amroth who gave them a smile. "Good luck," he said and the two reached in at the same time, drawing out their balls, hidden in their fists. Derek looked at Alex and they opened their hands at the same time. Derek’s ball was indeed white, but Alex held a green ball. Derek sighed but Alex just shrugged.

"Have fun," he said and Derek nodded, heading outside while Alex sauntered over to another part of the room where others were congregating showing off their balls. They were all colors: red, yellow, orange, blue, green, purple, brown or black. Finally, all the students had selected a ball and when those who would be in the dog-sled race were outside, Daeron came and spoke to the others.

"Don’t feel bad if you didn’t get a white ball," he told them. "We will be having other races and contests as well, so let’s split you up." He then proceeded to call out certain colors, directing the students to different parts of the room where they were greeted by a couple of the Elves. Alex and those with green balls trooped over by the fireplace where Vorondur awaited them. When everyone was where they needed to be, Daeron addressed them again.

"We’ve set up eight additional races, though not all of them are actual races, as you will see, but they are competitive. Your instructor will inform you which race or competition you will be in based on the color of your ball. As with the dog-sled race, if you’re in a race in which you don’t want to participate, either because you lack the necessary skill or just because, you will have the opportunity to swap with another. However, we intend to keep the numbers in each group the same, so some of you may be out of luck and you should just do the best you can. Your teammates can help you as much as they can. There aren’t any real prizes. These races are for the fun of it. So, instructors, please inform your groups about their particular race."

Alex turned his attention to Vorondur who smiled at them all. "All of you have had an opportunity to do snowshoe walking." There were nods all around. "Well, we will be holding a snowshoe relay race. You will divide into teams of five. It does not matter how you do it. Someone on your team should be designated as the starter and someone should be the finisher and then the other three will be in the middle."

"How long is the course?" someone asked.

"Sixteen kilometers or ten miles. You will each cover two miles, one mile to the marker and then back. The course is clearly marked with red cloth on the trees so you should have no problem. At the mile marker will be one of the instructors in case you are experiencing any difficulty. Now, if you’ll follow me we’ll get you your snowshoes and take you out to the starting point. Decide who’s going to be on your team and the order of your run before we reach the starting point."

With that, he led the way out of the lodge to a large shack where hung snowshoes of various types and sizes. A couple of the resort employees were on hand to help them find the proper size and soon they were all set. Alex ended up teaming with four people whom he didn’t know well, a young man named Nathan and three young women: Carla, Shafali, and Leanne. It was agreed that Nathan would start while the three women would run the middle part of the race with Alex finishing. Once everyone was ready, Vorondur pointed in the general direction in which they were to go then called ‘ready-set-go’ and to the shouts of encouragement from their teammates the racers were off.

Alex and the women watched as Nathan and the other racers made their way across the snowfield disappearing from view as the course bent around a stand of pine trees. "He needs to make a good start so we don’t lose time," Alex commented.

"I wonder what the other races are about?" Shafali asked.

"We’ll find out later, I suppose," Carla replied and then they lapsed into silence, waiting for the racers to return. Running on snow is not the same as running on pavement, so covering two miles takes longer, but just as some of the students were complaining about standing in the cold, they saw the first of the racers returning.

"Get ready," Alex ordered Shafali, who would go next. "When you see Nathan, stretch out your hand and be ready to go as soon as he touches you."

Shafali nodded, keeping her eyes on the approaching racers. "There he is!" Carla cried out. "Go, Nathan!"

Nathan came as quickly as he could and Alex could see he was breathing hard. He reached out to Shafali and they barely touched hands before she was off, third in the pack. Alex grabbed Nathan to keep him from stumbling. "Careful now. You did good, man. Now let’s get these shoes off you and have you walk around to cool off." Nathan could only nod, too breathless to speak.

Resort employees were approaching the returned racers, helping them with removing their shoes and handing them some hot cocoa. Then the others were served. Alex insisted that Nathan walk around a bit. "It’s like with horses," he said as he held onto Nathan’s elbow to help steady him. "If you don’t cool down properly you’ll regret it. So, what’s the trail like?"

"Not bad. There’s one part that’s twisty and uphill and then there’s another part that’s downhill and very steep. You really have to go sideways if you want to make it down. Some people ended up falling and ending up in a heap at the bottom of the hill. Took them awhile to untangle themselves," he added with a grin. "After that, it’s pretty straightforward."

"Do you come back the same way?" Carla asked.

"No. Dan Ronaldson is at the mile marker. He’ll point you at another direction that takes you around the hill so coming back it’s pretty flat all the way. You end up meeting the original trail right where those trees are." He pointed to the stand of pines.

So they waited for the next group to return. When Shafali came, she was right behind the leader. Carla got herself ready and then she was off and Alex and Nathan were giving Shafali a hand. "Whew! That’s a wicked course," she said with a gasp. "Nearly slid all the way down the dratted hill."

"Let’s hope Carla does okay," Nathan said and they all nodded, settling in for the wait.

Eventually, Carla and the others racing this leg returned and then Leanne was off. Alex gathered himself together, mentally psyching himself for his part of the race. Carla had come in fifth so Leanne needed to make better time in order for Alex to have a chance at placing. He wasn’t too concerned about whether his team won or lost. It wasn’t important to him, though he recognized that it might be for the others. He was simply enjoying himself.

By now, it was mid-afternoon and the sun was well down the western sky, though there was still plenty of daylight in which to finish the race. He wondered how Derek was getting on and if he was enjoying himself. Then Leanne and the others came around the bend and Alex got himself in line, his hand out, ready to set off as soon as Leanne touched him. He could see she was struggling to finish. "That’s it, Leanne. You’re almost there. Good girl. You can do it," he shouted and their teammates joined him in shouting encouragements and Leanne put on a burst of speed and then Alex was off.

He noted that there were already three others on the trail and he made long loping strides in an attempt to catch up, hoping to reach the dreaded hill before the others. He passed one racer and then another even as they all made the bend around the stand of trees, but he was unable to pass the lead racer, a young woman whom he did not know. He struggled on, trying to regulate his breathing, reaching the twisty part of the trail. It did indeed narrow and people had to take it in single file. The trail snaked among trees and bushes and then made a sharp left turn, climbing to the top of a ridge and the trail, he could see, continued along the ridge, supposedly to a point where one would then go downhill. The lead racer was nowhere in sight and Alex resigned himself to coming in second, which was fine with him. He ran along the ridge, keeping his eye out for the red cloth that marked the trail.

That was his downfall, for he did not pay as much attention to the actual trail as he should have and his right shoe slid dangerously close to the edge of the ridge. He gave a gasp as he attempted to regain his balance but to no avail. With a sickening lurch, he was caught in a mini-avalanche and fell on his back, slipping and sliding down the hill, trying desperately to slow his descent and avoid slamming into any of the trees. He hit a hummock of snow and went sailing into the air to crash into a tree. He saw stars for a brief second and then it all went dark.