There was a long pause as Peter considered his next words carefully.
"It's almost like he's... one of us."
"Are you INSANE?" countered Richie, lowering her voice immediately. "We'd know if he was a dragon; we'd sense him, and he just isn't.”
"I know he doesn't feel like a dragon," retorted Peter, "but... there's something else that just makes him feel really, really wrong to everyone of my senses."
"Have you considered the possibility that your dislike for him stems from the fact that he's just waltzed into Cropptech, and you've gotten off on the wrong foot? Or that you don't like the thought of having to report to someone new, someone who's been here less time than you have?"
"I know it sounds a bit like that Rich, but there's more to it than that, I'm sure. You have to believe me... please. I've never been so sure about anything in my entire life," Peter pleaded.
"Enough with the begging, alright. I'll do what I can to keep an eye on him, as should you. With both of us working together, nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary will go unnoticed. Deal?"
"Deal," agreed Peter cheerfully.
With proceedings concluded, and both of them stifling yawns, the friends deposited their empty glasses on the bar, and after a quick goodnight embrace in the car park, went their separate ways.
Driving home, Peter wasn't sure what to make of their conversation. Glad that Richie had agreed to keep a watchful eye on Manson, but concerned that the entire office staff thought him to be a decent chap. As he slipped into bed, he hoped things would look better after a full night's sleep.
Following his normal routine, right down to the letter, the next morning. It was only when he'd closed the front door and headed down the path to his car that he realised the difference between this day and all the rest. For the first time ever, he wasn't looking forward to going into work. Quite the opposite in fact.
Thursday and Friday passed without incident at work. Atmosphere wise, in the security department, it was pretty much as it had been, an overwhelming cauldron of negativity, leaving the staff there with little choice but to knuckle down and get on with their work, with not a hint of the little jokes or quirky humour that Peter so loved.
For him, Friday was spent touring the whole site, checking security standards and protocol, making sure that as a company they were being extra vigilant, not wishing to give Manson any cause to pick fault with his work, but also it was an excuse to gauge the mood of a larger cross section of Cropptech employees, and get some sort of insight into just how they were feeling.
For the most part, the workers across the rest of the facility appeared happy and productive. Not sure what to make of all of this, he replayed that day over and over in his mind, wondering if, as Richie had suggested, he'd made a mistake, or jumped to a rash conclusion. Could it all be completely innocent, with him being the one to blow everything out of proportion with his vivid imagination? Despite going over it dozens of times, he still didn't think he was wrong. Something else he found suspicious was that Al Garrett had stayed in his office throughout normal working hours all day on Thursday, something that was practically unheard of. He'd checked.
'Very unusual,' he thought as he wandered the entire site, whilst also trying to keep an eye out for Major Manson, without much success. From reviewing the recordings in his office, he could see that the Major returned to his parked car every three to four hours, sitting in it for approximately five minutes, before heading back up to Garrett's office. It was impossible to see what exactly he was doing, due to the heavily darkened windows across the whole car, but he pondered all of this right up to the point that he left for home, his head buzzing with everything that had gone on that week. The only thing he knew at the moment was that he was glad it was the weekend.
4
A Ticket to the Ball? Laminium Ball
Walking from the car to the front door cleared his head of all the doubt and confusion he had about work. Turning the key in the lock felt like a breath of fresh air. Cogs in the machine all suddenly lining up, he realised that it being Friday night could only mean one thing... laminium ball!
With a renewed energy he sprinted upstairs, swapping his suit for jeans and a T-shirt. Buoyed by knowing that his rumbling stomach, instead of being quelled by a ready meal from the fridge, would have an assortment of delicious treats from the food stalls at the stadium to choose from, he descended the stairs in two giant leaps.
Pulling shut the curtains in every room of the house before picking up his wallet, keys and phone, he raced into the sitting room and pulled hard on the Galileo thermometer atop the piano. Silently, the light coloured instrument swung out from the corner of the room, revealing a gaping hole through which the top of the Victorian spiral staircase was just visible. Tugging the thermometer again as he sprinted past, winding his way down into the darkness, he'd just reached the floor as the hole in the ceiling closed fully, encasing him in the total pitch black. Needing no help in the dark, he snaked in and around all the obstacles, before reaching up with his left hand, standing in front of what he knew to be the secret exit. Running his hand along the uneven wall, he finally found an innocuous, finger sized hole next to a beam. Thrusting his finger in as far as it would go, the welcoming sound of tiny cogs and gears moving into place, which he always associated with a pleasurable return to the underground world of the dragons... his home, tickled his sensitive ear lobes.
Sprinting down the stone steps and vaulting the wall at the bottom to land perfectly on the walkway that led to the monorail station, he knew there was no time to lose, so broke into a jog, his keys jangling in the pocket of his light blue jeans as he did so. Moments later he slid to a halt on the shiny marble floor, ignoring the incredible sensation from the aromas of all the delectable food, carried on the breeze throughout the station plaza, despite the protests from his stomach. Getting busier with every second that passed, nervously he scanned the concourse for his friend who'd procured the tickets for the game. Startled as a large hand dropped onto his shoulder, he whirled around, only to end up staring right into his friend's battered, bruised and smiling face.
"Crikey, you're a bit jumpy aren't you?” teased Tank.
"Sorry," replied Peter, patting his friend on the back. "Rough week at work. Must be getting to me."
"It's great to see you, but we need to hurry if we're going to get there in time for me to grab some food before the match starts.”
Tank let out a raucous laugh, alarming more than a few passing passengers.
"That's what I love about you Peter. For someone so small, you're always thinking about your belly."
'It's true,' thought Peter. 'I am nearly always thinking about my stomach. Must be the dragon in me.'
Tank, like Richie, very much mirrored his natural form with his human guise. He was huge, a mountain of a man. Well over six feet tall, with a body packed full of muscle, rugby had certainly been the right choice for him. He had sparkling blue eyes, and what would have been a wild array of floppy blonde hair had it not been cut so short, primarily for the sport he loved. Always clean shaven, his face looked like a cross between Desperate Dan and Action Man, apart from his nose, which looked as though it had taken one too many punches on the rugby pitch, either that, or he'd taken up chasing parked cars.
The two friends hastily boarded the Burton-upon-Trent bound monorail carriage, where tonight's match was taking place. Nearly two hundred miles away, and at least three hours in a car, the journey below ground was expected to take about twenty five minutes. Taking place beneath England's beautiful Peak District in a huge, purpose built cavern, they both had tickets for the Burton side of the stadium, which would tonight be acting as the home side. Agreeing not at all on the predicted outcome of the match, they argued, much to the other passengers’ amusement, all the way there.