Per 
"Fine weather today, isn't it?"
Startled out of my revery, I realised that the man had been talking at me for quite some time as I waited patiently outside the Doctors office. The city was plagued these days by those with no respect for the solitude of others. Moving slowly, I lay myself on the sidewalk, face down, and closed my eyes, allowing his banalities wash over me. I was a deer or an antelope playing dead, awaiting the bear to lose interest and leave its quarry be. Above the drone still emanating from his mouth, I heard the distinctive click, click, click of the Doctors heels as she strode down the pavement towards us. Her feet emitted a short double report as she stopped before me. I glanced up from my repose to see her peering down, a slight smile playing across her lips. She bent and offered me her hand.
"It's been too long since you last saw me, Holden." The rich timbre of her voice washed over me as I brought myself erect.
Unlocking the front door to her office, we withdrew, leaving the prat outside to his inane musings.
-
After the myriad of routine and insufferable questions about my diet, exercise regime and general mood, the Doctor leaned back in her heavily padded chair and reached for the ornate cigarette case on the table. She inserted one into the end of her long ivory holder and lit it from the candle between us. Offering me one, she remarked "It is good to hear that you are doing so well after all this time, Holden. I am sure you are dying to hear about the results of my expedition."
After having nearly dozed off during the examination, I was instantly in rapt attention. For all of the benefits provided by a general practitioner of the medical arts, the primary reason I continued to visit with her was to hear tell of the wondrous discoveries and advancements being made in the study of the natural world, and in specific, her mesmerizingly detailed descriptions of the newly discovered fish, the Ford.
The Ford, as the Doctor tells it, is a remarkable fish found in some of the cooler bays and estuarys of Latin America. While not a particularly large or agile fish, it is nevertheless an accomplished and prolific huntsman. Its method is almost entirely unique in the animal kingdom due to the remarkable net-like scoop around its mouth with which it uses to catch its prey. Long, thin, articulated appendages protrude from its face in a conical arrangement, not unlike the pedipalps of a spider. A delicate, almost membranous net joins the dozen or so prongs like the webbing between the toes of a frog. Each individual finger is fully articulated and the whole structure can open and close like an umbrella. While this in itself is would make the Ford worthy of detailed study, the way it uses this apparatus is artful.
Once it has spied its prey, the Ford proceeds to seduces it. It engages in an elaborate dance, waving its prongs slowly, this way and that in the water in front of it, slowly and subtly at first, then, as the targets attention is captured, increasing in tempo and complexity, carefully tracing out intricate patterns and circles, adding small flourishes and embellishments. The webbing between its prongs balloons in and out, adding emphasis to the movements of the prongs that drive it, acting as an accompanying bass line to the melody produced by their ebb and sway, driving it slowly onwards and forwards. Patterns emerge and dissipate, flowing effortlessly into and out-of one another, merging, changing, interlocking with and absorbing one another, intriguing and captivating. Simple patterns emerge from the complex and fade away, leading enticingly towards the centre of the dance.
Then snap.
-
"-my umbrella."
The receptionist was a pleasant enough woman, but shared the same fault as many; the need for pointless small talk. Still; she was harmless enough and civility and good breading dictated that I oblige. I took her hand in mine, "What was that my dear?"
“I was just saying Sir, that there was no real need to bring my umbrella today. Are you feeling ok Sir? What fish?”
“As always, my dear, marvelous.”
The steel desk she sat behind, I realised, made her look much smaller in stature than she actually was. Outside, beyond the chain-link and the triple-arrow insignia of the facility, she was possibly quite a handsome woman.
She coughed politely and carefully extracted her hand from my own, beginning the intricate sequence of movements on the control panel in front of her that would open this side of the airlock. The sequence, and indeed the control panel itself, was specifically designed to be inscrutable to the casual observer, one of the many carefully thought-out safeguards integrated into the facility. It was said to be impossible to glean any information about the workings of the consol without careful and deliberate instruction, making it more secure than any normal key or cypher could ever be. Indeed, I had watched her perform this operation once a day, five days a week for years and could see no logic in her movements. And yet, each day without fail, the desired result was achieved.
The inward side of the airlock opened in a smooth ballet of machinery, as carefully and precisely choreographed in metal and glass as the dance of the Ford was in scale and fin. I flashed my most winning grin in response to the concerned look of the receptionist and proceeded through the airlock.
It closed behind me with a snap.
-
"Fine weather today, no need for an umbrella."
I skewered the man with a glare. The audacity! Not only had I never met him before, but I wasn't even carrying an umbrella. Nevertheless, the briefcase was beginning to get heavy and the park bench he sat on was as good a place as any to rest my tired arm. It is funny how these things tend to line up when you are not paying attention. And it was true; asides from the general hustle and bustle of the park and the sound of a helicopter thrumming in the distance, it was a very pleasant day.
Carefully placing my briefcase on the ground before me, I sat, patting my coat pocket for my pouch of tobacco. The man coughed and repeated himself, looking me straight in the eye.
"Fine weather today, no need for an umbrella."
"Yes, yes, I believe you. Now if you don't mind, I would like some peace and quiet in which to roll myself a cigarette."
I studiously ignored him, directing all of my attention to the application of tobacco to paper. Finishing my operation, I realised that I did not have a match book on me. Sighing inwardly, I look over to the man, intending to inquire weather or not he had upon his person a match, only to see him hastily walking away, impeded only by the apparent weight of the briefcase he now carried. The manners of some people! Although, perhaps it was the sound of that damned helicopter that had driven him off.
Moving slowly, I lay myself on the path next to the bench, face down, and closed my eyes. I mused over how remarkable an animal the Ford was. Its ability to drive its prey to do something completely counter to its own self interest was a formidable ability indeed. With the soldier running towards me, rifle drawn, this seemed oddly poignant.
