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Michael had started the conversation reminding him he'd missed his council-mandated Anchor training, but Alan had bigger fish to net - and given the way his Seer usually frowned over him, Alan knew he'd better put some effort into his argument.
Making use of his greeting card-writing training, he tried to quickly wrap up a necessarily vague explanation of what he and his travel companion had run into with Markland (he changed both Turner's and the doctor's names out of paranoia). "So she's figured out the Shifting thing - how it works - you're saying?" Michael asked after a pregnant pause.
"Essentially."
"What does 'essentially' mean?" was the rapid response.
Alan didn't mean to let the sigh be loud. "I'm not going to explain it over the phone. I don't care what you say," he rushed to cut off what he pretty well figured the pilot was going to tell him, "I still don't trust cell phones any more than I did land lines. Not with what the frigging NSA can do these days."
"Their press is better than their ability, I assure you," Michael said dryly.
"Generalities," Alan reminded him quietly, looking along the sidewalk outside his motel room even though he'd just checked five seconds prior and seen nobody. "I only called so you could maybe get a fire going under someone before we get back and I can tell you in more detail. It's going to be about a day and a half, with a nap." He waited for Michael to chide him on the wonders of air travel, even realizing he should expect more; the pilot had never bothered him about his phobia past a couple of initial questions and pokes of fun early in their acquaintance.
"Okay, what fire am I supposed to light, here?" For the first time, Michael sounded really annoyed.
"They should probably do something. Be proactive; I don't know. I'm not them," Alan said of the Council. "The best defense is a good offense, and all that?"
"Think you might have that reversed," the other man mumbled.
"Point is, even if a ... battle, comes to them from Markland and her minions, they-"
"What is this, Bad Horse?" Michael put in. "'Minions?'"
"WOULD YOU BE QUIET." Alan cleared his throat. "Take me seriously. It might be a fight. A ... battle, even. Wouldn't they want to be ready?"
Michael was quiet a moment, then serious again. "Their general position is that they don't engage in battles, or fights. They're not overt. You know this."
"Yes, but if they have to - being able to engage generally puts countries into a good position in wars," Alan pointed out.
"Not always, no."
Seriously? "So it's better to get run over, then?" He tried to keep his voice down, wondering at times like this why he had a thing for Michael.
"If you want a war analogy, fine. Jumping in and fighting doesn't always work. Look at Vietnam, Korea ... the Gulf. Afghanistan, lots of times by different countries over a long time. But especially for us."
"Yes, and in all those-"
"In all those," Michael continued, "the government, people, were sure they could win, and pretty fast, because they still had World War Two in the back of their brains and figured every one of those others was going to turn out good for us in the end too. Nobody looks at our whole history, for example, to see just how bad wars go for us overall; they cling to one where we were actually justified in getting into it, without taking into account what all else happened to give us a victory. And the economy after. I mean, if I hear that argument one more time how we'll have so much more money after we invade ..." He trailed off.
Alan opened his mouth to answer, then thought a bit longer. It was hard for a civilian to make a case off the top of his head against a former Navy pilot, about military strategy. "This isn't quite on that scale."
"I'd damn well hope not. But I'm just making a comparison anyway." Michael coughed. "Call or text me when you're back and I'll tell you where we can go over it. I'm not saying anything to anyone until I know what all you found out."
He wasn't dismissing what they'd found in Arizona. Well, all right - maybe that's what Alan saw in him. "Fine, but if I'm right and you hesitated on this ..." he joked, realizing as usual only after it was said that it didn't sound humorous at all. Social awkwardness and espionage didn't cooperate for him. "I mean, I will call."
He clicked off, shaking his head as he turned and slipped back into the motel room - too flustered to notice the old Ford that had pulled slowly past the end of the building, its back window rolled down.
(This is for the LJ Idol Week 11 prompt Recency Bias)
Making use of his greeting card-writing training, he tried to quickly wrap up a necessarily vague explanation of what he and his travel companion had run into with Markland (he changed both Turner's and the doctor's names out of paranoia). "So she's figured out the Shifting thing - how it works - you're saying?" Michael asked after a pregnant pause.
"Essentially."
"What does 'essentially' mean?" was the rapid response.
Alan didn't mean to let the sigh be loud. "I'm not going to explain it over the phone. I don't care what you say," he rushed to cut off what he pretty well figured the pilot was going to tell him, "I still don't trust cell phones any more than I did land lines. Not with what the frigging NSA can do these days."
"Their press is better than their ability, I assure you," Michael said dryly.
"Generalities," Alan reminded him quietly, looking along the sidewalk outside his motel room even though he'd just checked five seconds prior and seen nobody. "I only called so you could maybe get a fire going under someone before we get back and I can tell you in more detail. It's going to be about a day and a half, with a nap." He waited for Michael to chide him on the wonders of air travel, even realizing he should expect more; the pilot had never bothered him about his phobia past a couple of initial questions and pokes of fun early in their acquaintance.
"Okay, what fire am I supposed to light, here?" For the first time, Michael sounded really annoyed.
"They should probably do something. Be proactive; I don't know. I'm not them," Alan said of the Council. "The best defense is a good offense, and all that?"
"Think you might have that reversed," the other man mumbled.
"Point is, even if a ... battle, comes to them from Markland and her minions, they-"
"What is this, Bad Horse?" Michael put in. "'Minions?'"
"WOULD YOU BE QUIET." Alan cleared his throat. "Take me seriously. It might be a fight. A ... battle, even. Wouldn't they want to be ready?"
Michael was quiet a moment, then serious again. "Their general position is that they don't engage in battles, or fights. They're not overt. You know this."
"Yes, but if they have to - being able to engage generally puts countries into a good position in wars," Alan pointed out.
"Not always, no."
Seriously? "So it's better to get run over, then?" He tried to keep his voice down, wondering at times like this why he had a thing for Michael.
"If you want a war analogy, fine. Jumping in and fighting doesn't always work. Look at Vietnam, Korea ... the Gulf. Afghanistan, lots of times by different countries over a long time. But especially for us."
"Yes, and in all those-"
"In all those," Michael continued, "the government, people, were sure they could win, and pretty fast, because they still had World War Two in the back of their brains and figured every one of those others was going to turn out good for us in the end too. Nobody looks at our whole history, for example, to see just how bad wars go for us overall; they cling to one where we were actually justified in getting into it, without taking into account what all else happened to give us a victory. And the economy after. I mean, if I hear that argument one more time how we'll have so much more money after we invade ..." He trailed off.
Alan opened his mouth to answer, then thought a bit longer. It was hard for a civilian to make a case off the top of his head against a former Navy pilot, about military strategy. "This isn't quite on that scale."
"I'd damn well hope not. But I'm just making a comparison anyway." Michael coughed. "Call or text me when you're back and I'll tell you where we can go over it. I'm not saying anything to anyone until I know what all you found out."
He wasn't dismissing what they'd found in Arizona. Well, all right - maybe that's what Alan saw in him. "Fine, but if I'm right and you hesitated on this ..." he joked, realizing as usual only after it was said that it didn't sound humorous at all. Social awkwardness and espionage didn't cooperate for him. "I mean, I will call."
He clicked off, shaking his head as he turned and slipped back into the motel room - too flustered to notice the old Ford that had pulled slowly past the end of the building, its back window rolled down.
(This is for the LJ Idol Week 11 prompt Recency Bias)
