Authors: Clara Ward
“Sure you don’t want dinner first?”
“People keep asking. Do I look like I’m starving?”
“No, you look fine,”
she said, briefly touching his hand.
“Maybe we just like your company.”
He handed her the sample kits and stepped around to open the door. She smiled and looked back over her shoulder as she left.
When she was gone, James reabsorbed himself in examining Reggie’s DNA.
Later, he set to cleaning up the lab. He gathered the classified footage of teeps and his rate of identification notes. As he removed the slide that held Sarah’s blood sample, he realized there was still enough there to rerun the analysis.
He hadn’t meant to lie to her. He was usually a very honest person, within reason. But that sample could be so useful scientifically, and he knew he could bury the data where no one would ever find it. After a few moments hesitation, James put the slide back in the machine and restarted the sequencer.
Then he realized he hadn’t paid Sarah or Reggie. Neither of them had even asked directly about the money, and that was careless of them. He’d been authorized to offer a lot, especially to Sarah, since teeks were so rare, but they should have had to negotiate to get top pay.
James glanced at Reggie’s data on his computer screen and at the sequencer he’d just restarted. He ordered checks sent to both Sarah and Reggie for the highest approved amount.
April 25, 2025 – Bangkok, Thailand
Reggie stood beside Sarah on a dock in front of the Oriental Hotel. Since he’d been raised thinking the term “Oriental” was almost as insulting as “Nigger,” he couldn’t help but wonder how Tom, with his Berkeley education, regarded the place. The hotel itself bore the simple lines and mottled blue-gray tones of modern waterfront resorts, with no allowance for traditional Asian architecture.
Then a gaudy boat decorated in red and gold pulled near the pier. Its bow was carved like a serpentine dragon, and the oarsman was a muscular young man in loose silk trousers and little else. Reggie handed him the card Tom had sent, which included their reservation time, table number, some writing in Thai, and directions to give the card to their escort at the dock.
The boatman took the card, brought his hands to his face in the prayer-like gesture shown on Thai travel posters, and gazed up at them with bold, brown eyes. Then he said, “Sa-wa-di-krap, welcome,” and helped them onto the boat.
Reggie wondered if they were underdressed, in light cotton evening clothes, Sarah having chosen not to wear a dress or any jewelry. She sat beside him on a polished wood bench, totally caught up in the experience. As they began to move she dragged one finger in the water, thoughtless of any sanitary concerns. Reggie slid his arm behind her, wanting to share her perception of the moment.
As they neared the main restaurant, which floated mid-river, Reggie noticed the sweet, clean scent of Sarah’s hair combining with the spicy odor of the bare-chested boatman. The combination reminded him of Tom on the day they arrived, perhaps a locally popular cologne combined with soap or lotion? The juxtaposition was more enticing than
either part.
The island restaurant they circled looked like a Thai palace, covered with carved wood and golden spires. In the setting sun it seemed to glow, and appeared much more authentic than the boat. Still, seeing the sun glint off the oiled shoulders of their paddling boatman, Reggie had to wonder what sort of place Tom had chosen.
As they came around behind the faux palace, they saw a dozen glinting boats, scattered fifty to a hundred meters apart. Their escort steered them toward one tethered craft. It was about fifteen feet long, more gaudy than elegant. The cabin on top had gold lame curtains, which were currently pulled back to reveal Tom, seated at a low table. He nodded as they arrived. The boatman helped them from one boat to the other, then departed with a bow of head and shoulders. Tom poured tea. As Reggie sat down he noted the back section of the cabin was covered with cushions.
“How are you, Tom? We missed you at the party,” Reggie began.
“Something came up.”
Reggie acknowledged the innuendo with a glance. He recognized that Tom wished to play the role of lord, and he’d already assumed the part of skeptic.
Tom tilted his head and smiled. “Speaking of which—“
Another bare-chested man dressed in red silk trousers paddled toward them. He tied his boat alongside and carried up a covered platter. Setting it on the table, he removed the lid and savory steam poured out. The tray held an assortment of appetizers surrounded by carved fruit and flowers. Whatever misgivings Reggie felt about the chosen location, the food was a work of art.
Tom spoke to the waiter in Thai. He nodded and went back to his boat.
“Is he going to paddle back and forth all the time?” Sarah asked.
“Yes,” Tom answered, “Unless we ask him to stay and entertain us for a while.”
“Do you mean—“
“We can access his health history online, including recent tests for all the common diseases. Would you like to see?” Tom held out his phone with a web scan window on the display.
“No, that’s okay.” Sarah sat back in her chair. “Can we talk here?”
“Of course.”
Reggie imagined hidden listening devices or smart dust that self-organized a network where it settled. He visualized himself searching the cabin and owning top-of-the-line detectors to do it right. Then he pictured his disappointment at finding nothing and concluding the three of them just weren’t that important.
Meanwhile, Sarah asked, “Could you tell me about normal people with closed minds?”
Tom sighed like a hissing python as he leaned back, stretching his tight opalescent green shirt until it almost untucked from his black leather pants. “Hardly normal. If you really want to know, most of them had terrible things happen to them in their youth, various abuse, especially rape.”
“Too bad they weren’t teeps or teeks,” Sarah scowled.
“Why?”
“I figure, a teep would know if someone intended to harm them, and, well, no one should try to rape a teek.” Sarah looked down as she spoke, but Tom winced forward as if kicked below the waist.
“Lovely, I’ll remember that. Why don’t you tell me what you think of Bangkok?”
Tom and Sarah chatted pleasantly through the appetizers and soup. It wasn’t until after the obsequious server brought their main course that Reggie mentioned his main concern. “Do you know how the U.S. regards us now? Can I safely call my work contacts? Could I have my belongings shipped over?”
“Intelligence on the U.S. is highly variable. If they’ve sent messages about you to their foreign embassies, someone here would probably know, but I haven’t heard anything. What do you want to set up?”
“Nothing specific yet. I worked with a non-profit in the states, but most of our projects were international. I’m wondering if I could still be useful to them or if I need to start fresh.”
Tom half-smirked. “If they had any secrets, your government probably already snooped them. If you work with them openly, they’ll probably stay under surveillance. You should get a PAD if you’re going to call the U.S. a lot.”
“Oh shit.”
“What?”
“Just some business with PAD that I left dangling. Anything happen with them recently?”
“No idea. I don’t really follow the news.”
Reggie had a knee jerk reaction to people ignorant of current events, but he suppressed it. It seemed a bit hypocritical at the moment.
Tom turned to Sarah and said, “Do you still want to see Angkor Wat? I could arrange something for you.”
As Tom and Sarah talked, both leaning toward each other now, Reggie felt strange misgivings. Not that he’d ever particularly trusted Tom, but this evening he distinctly doubted the man. Was he jealous, or paranoid?
Reggie remembered his father counseling him before he left for the Peace Corps. Dad sat in his leather chair by the fire, eyes squinting into the flames. “Reggie, there are many kinds of people out there. I’ve always managed to find the honest ones. You trust your instincts, and I think you can too.”
Reggie wondered if he should call his folks. Had the government investigated them as well? While he turned over the possibilities, their server arrived with dessert.
“Should I ask him to stay?” Tom whispered, a mockery of his usual flirtatiousness. “You could sample another local dish?”
Sarah shook her head and Reggie offered a gentle, “No thanks.”
Tom smiled, clearly baiting them for fun now. When they’d finished the fruit and icy deserts he asked, “Have you worked through those Puritan ideas about teek sex?”
Sarah blushed.
Reggie figured Tom was harassing her for fun. He must know by now that she wasn’t interested.
“The problem is,” Reggie said with a melodramatic shrug, “If she pins me to the ceiling while teasing me, there’s always the risk she’ll get distracted and I’ll fall back down. It’s rather hard on the bed.”
Tom glanced at the low ceiling of the boat, “If you’re into aerial demonstrations, just close the curtains and make me a pin-up.”
Sarah mimed considering it for a moment. She leaned her head sideways, then gave it a shake and laughed.
They returned to light conversation until Tom signaled for a boat to shuttle them back to the dock.
After Sarah closed the door to their hotel room that night, she leaned against it for several moments.
Reggie removed his shoes, then sat on the bed and waited.
“We’ve never talked about the whole teek sex thing, except with Tom.”
“True,” Reggie replied, instantly warming to the topic, though unsure where Sarah was headed.
“Have you been thinking about it? That whole bit with the ceiling—”
“He was trying to embarrass you. I just tried to distract him.”
“But had you thought of it ahead of time?”
“Yes, more as an amusement than an actual desire.”
“Were there actual desires?” Sarah was not asking flirtatiously. She was still sticking to the door, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Reggie was torn between a suspicion that he could have some fantasies played out tonight and realizing that Sarah needed someone sympathetic to discuss the possibilities.
“Come over here. Let’s talk.” When she perched two feet away from him, he reached out to hold her hand. It was cold.
“I’ve used teek so much these last few days,” she said, “But I still don’t know where it comes from or how it works.”
“And it worries you?”
“It would be better to know. But I don’t think I’m going to find out, and I feel sort of, sort of robbed not using it when no one else seems to worry.”
“Does it feel wrong to use it?”
“No. Sometimes it hurts to keep it a secret, but being able to do stuff feels pretty good. That’s really conceited, isn’t it?”
“You’re one of the least conceited people I know. You can do something amazing. It’s a gift.”
She was silent as he stroked her hand and then moved closer. He wondered if it was time to move on to something more intimate, and gently stroked down her side, just skimming her breast. She took a deep breath. His attraction increased. He felt an invisible hand glide from his cheekbone, down his neck, across his chest and stomach to his groin and thigh. His body responded without hesitation.
“So tell me what you’ve imagined,” Sarah said.
And he did.
April 26 – May 10, 2025 – Bangkok, Thailand
Saturday found them back at the Johnson’s for tea. Sarah stood in a sitting room filled with adjustable furniture, beanbags, and swings. The different shapes, textures, and colors fit no unifying theme except that they might all be considered chairs. Sarah gazed around like a museum visitor who’d just happened into the “Sitting” Room.
Several pieces seemed the image of comfort, but Sarah did not feel comfortable. Reggie had suggested conservative clothing, not knowing what their hosts would expect. Now Sarah wriggled her shoulders against the seams of her fitted blouse and her toes inside stiff new shoes.
Mr. Johnson, Samuel as he wanted to be called, wore dark suit pants and a white button shirt, but somehow eased casually into a chair shaped like Charlie Brown’s broken kite. Reggie settled, despite his tie and jacket, into a similar canvas contraption supported asymmetrically by metal poles at the corners. Sarah would have chosen a swing seat if she’d been with people she knew, but here she wouldn’t know whether or not to swing. Fearing she’d attract attention if she didn’t choose fast, she plopped into a relatively normal but overstuffed chair. It would have been fine if she wanted to curl her feet up and take a nap, but in the current situation, she felt like she’d jumped into quicksand. Oh well, at least the trap was velvety soft. She leaned back to feel the fuzzy fabric stroke her neck.
Mrs. Johnson, or Ida, a thin Chinese woman with streaks of gray through hair wrapped back in a bun, wore a sarong and served good Thai tea as if no one’s culture was any obstacle for her. Sarah barely tasted the tea. While Samuel, Ida, and Reggie were chatting as if nothing had happened, Sarah kept glancing toward the door, expecting Emma to pounce upon her and make a scene.