Marcus Hale stood before a floor-to-ceiling window. Around him, his office was tasteful, functional and elegantly modern. His hands were clasped behind his back and his eyes surveyed the Annex's central plaza below.
From this height, the geometric rigour of the space struck him: paved expanses of pale stone, stainless-steel benches that looked uninviting even in the sun, and planters that seemed more ornamental than practical. Across the plaza, the south tower rose like a mirror, twin in ambition and reflecting light at sharp angles.
To him, the view was orderly, efficient, even quietly satisfying. To many others? Unfriendly, sterile and intimidating.
A soft chime drew Marcus' attention.
"Guest arrival scheduled in six minutes, thirty seconds: Thamish Stoneberg, Junior," his AI assistant stated precisely. No elaboration, no courtesy - just efficient fact. Marcus let the information settle without comment and straightened his jacket, moving through the door into the space beyond.
As a director, Marcus qualified for an enclosed office. The rest of his colleagues and direct reports had to content themselves with open desks separated by low dividing walls that provided only a mockery of privacy.
"Marcus," Selena said without preamble as he approached. He had to pass her desk on the way to the elevator, which she seemed to think meant he was always available to answer her every whim. "Project Falstaff is still behind and requesting another funding adjustment." Her displeased frown told him what she thought of the idea, even if a full fiscal quarter of complaints already hadn't.
"My calendar is up to date," he replied without stopping. He was on a timer. "If you can find fifteen minutes, you can try to convince me to shuffle the project manager again."
He didn't need to turn around to know her frown had deepened.
The elevator descended smoothly, the soft whir of machinery a backdrop to his steady thoughts. The doors slid open to the parking garage, and he moved to wait at the reserved accessibility parking close by. He had to wait less than a minute for a sleek, metallic red sedan to glide into a free spot.
Marcus stepped forward as the vehicle came to a quiet stop. The car door opened, and he noted the presence of a dog in a harness, but dismissed it as not his concern.
Marcus extended a hand to the dark-skinned man with mirrored sunglasses who stepped out.
"Mr. Stoneberg," he said, voice clear and steady. "I'm offering my hand to shake if you wish. My name is Marcus Hale, Director of Maritime Infrastructure at T&S. Welcome to the Annex."
\ - / - \ - /
Junior found Marcus Hale's hand and returned the handshake. The grip was firm, the kind that conveyed competence rather than dominance.
"Mr. Hale," Junior said. He retrieved his hand and rubbed the back of his neck. "I owe you an apology. I thought you were a courier the last time we met."
Marcus's mouth quirked in a partial smile. "A reasonable assumption, given the circumstances. No offence taken."
Junior nodded his head in acceptance. Achilles remained still by his side, seated on his haunches but relaxed and attentive.
"This way," Marcus said, turning toward the pedestrian access leading out of the garage. Then he hesitated. Turned back. "Ah, my apologies if the question is inappropriate. Will your dog be sufficient to guide you, or would you appreciate my assistance?"
Junior was long past the point of being irritated at a simple, courteously phrased offer of help.
"Achilles is well-trained, don't worry about me," he answered in the same spirit as the question had been asked. "Thank you for asking."
"Very well, follow me please."
Marcus turned away again to head to the elevators.
"Forward," Junior said softly, giving the harness a light nudge. Achilles stepped into motion at once, and Junior followed, cane comfortably in hand as the open space echoed around him.
The elevator ride was short and silent. When the doors opened, Marcus stopped just past the threshold.
"Before we head further up, I've stopped us at the ground floor," he said. "Would you like a very brief orientation? Entirely optional."
Junior frowned uncomfortably. "I appreciate the thought," he said. "But I'm here for the meeting. I don't want to delay things."
"We're on schedule," Marcus reassured him. "I wouldn't suggest anything extensive. I find it regrettable that there are aspects of the Annex that many people tend to misunderstand. Including its main purpose."
Junior exhaled slowly. That was the hook, whether Marcus meant it to be or not.
"What misunderstanding?" Junior asked despite himself.
Marcus smiled. "That it exists purely to impress. Or intimidate."
Junior almost laughed. Almost.
"They're not entirely wrong," he said with some bitterness.
"No," Marcus conceded after a pause, "they're not. But it's not the complete truth, either."
Junior sighed resignedly. "Enlighten me, then, Director Hale."
At a word from Marcus, they began walking. From the elevators, they entered a large lobby. The floor-to-ceiling glass, so ubiquitous to the building, allowed the sun to illuminate the sparse crowds scattered about. The lobby was lined with retail outlets, from gift shops to convenience stores.
"We are in the northern tower. Named, rather unsurprisingly, the North Tower," Marcus said with a self-deprecating smile. "The entire Annex is officially our headquarters, but North Tower is where most of upper management lives."
Junior listened without comment. The words themselves weren't all that interesting, of course. But he acknowledged the utility of the context he was getting, so didn't interrupt.
As they crossed the midpoint of the lobby, Marcus continued.
"The buildings are owned and operated by a property management corporation, which is actually a T&S subsidiary. The arrangement is not uncommon, I'm told, but the reasons never interested me enough to remember. What I do remember is that the high leases the shops pay here directly correspond with the equally high prices they charge, and are the primary reason I splurged on my own premium Raskan coffee maker last year."
Junior snorted in amusement at the commentary, and Marcus quirked his half-smile.
They arrived at the exterior doors. Marcus held one open while Achilles led Junior through. The clamour of the city carried to them from a distance as they stepped out onto the spacious plaza.
"Across the plaza," Marcus said, "South Tower houses many of our front-line customer service and technical support departments. As well as the corporate archives. The plaza itself, along with the two towers, are what most people think of when they think of the Annex. But they are only what's visible."
Marcus stopped walking, and the ever-observant Achilles halted as well, nudging Junior's leg.
"Below us," Marcus continued, "are several levels of infrastructure most people never see: automated water treatment and purification; desalination support tied directly into the harbour intake; redundancy systems designed to operate independently in the event of grid failure."
Junior tilted his head slightly. "All of that … here?"
"Here," Marcus confirmed. "The Annex isn't just headquarters. It's a node. An important one." He lifted his wrist and checked his watch in a gesture made fluid through repetition. "We should return now to make it to our meeting on time," he said, angling his body back towards North Tower's entrance.
Junior voiced his agreement, and they started to move.
"You seem to be a very time-oriented individual," Junior commented idly to make conversation. "I don't mean that as a criticism," he hurried to add when he realized how it sounded. "Just an observation."
"Indeed," Marcus agreed. "I take no offence. I was always a rather punctual person, but even more so lately. I believe it to be a detrimental effect of my rising Apeirosis."
It took a second for Junior to consciously register what Marcus had said; it was spoken so casually. But when he did, he stumbled as his feet seemed to fail him. Achilles did what he could to selflessly brace Junior's leg from the side.
Marcus casually reached out to support Junior before he could fall. A particularly keen observer might have noticed he started to move slightly before Junior tripped.
"What did you say?" Junior finally managed to ask after he recovered his footing.
"I said that I believe my increasing obsession with punctuality is a consequence of my Apeirosis," Marcus answered just as calmly as before. "I would have asked if you were familiar with the term, but your reaction seems to answer that rather clearly." He frowned. "I apologize. You aren't one of those misguided individuals who believe that Reclaimed are 'contagious', or some such? I assure you that is not the case, to the best of my knowledge, and I've actually studied the matter quite thoroughly and carefully."
"Am I … what? No, I was just surprised you admitted it so … openly," Junior said. He rotated his head from one direction to the other, as if trying to listen for who might be nearby. "Don't you want to stay … anonymous?"
"No," Marcus replied simply. Then he elaborated. "I never believed being Reclaimed was something to be ashamed of, and I never attempted to hide it. All of my friends, family and coworkers have been nothing but supportive. If anything, I find it a bit strange that the Galatean government has taken the stance they have, but I suppose they have their reasons."
The man looked at his watch again.
"That's all I intended to show you," Marcus said, moving from the previous topic as if it were no longer important. "We do need to get back, though. The rest can wait. Or never happen at all.
"It's entirely up to you, Mr. Stoneberg."