Chapter Twenty-Five: Submission

All eyes were on the strange man now sitting in their booth. Krystal and Tedford both looked apprehensively at the figure, although for very different reasons. Tedford, a former Drone, himself, in the feared Order of the Hive, knew that the gig was up, there was nowhere to run - he'd allowed himself to be captured. This man, this thing, this unrelenting, untiring Drone, would stop at nothing and do anything necessary to apprehend Tedford and retrieve what had been stolen. Krystal, on the other hand, was eerily intrigued by the man. Afraid? Yes, but curious. She said nothing, but seemed to recall a memory, a vague recollection of such a figure, but from where? Dressed in black, her young, media-schooled mind weighed the possibilities against the obvious: "Men in Black"? No. "The Matrix"? No. "The Lone Ranger"? No. None of these seemed to fit, and yet...

With a glare in his eye and his arms crossed rigidly - his demeanor and body language yelling out angrily, T-Bone spoke seemingly calm, "Well, now what?"

"You're first on my list, Tedford. Many have tried to steal from the Queen, but all are eventually found." The Drone's reference was purposefully vague. What was eventually found? Stolen artifacts? Deserters? Thieves? Verdicts? This was the way the Hive operated, in unclarities, assumptions, misunderstandings, vagueries. Tedford had grown tired of it, seeking desparately for months for an escape from the bondage that had ensnared him those few years ago.

"What do you think I took?" Tedford replied, defiantly. "Did you take something that belongs to this guy?" Krystal asked him in return. "No, baby, I didn't," was T-Bone's reply.

The Drone audibly chuckled, "Oh, I beg to differ, Ted." Tedford looked at him with mixed resentment and incredulity, saying "I thought you guys never laughed. And don't you ever call me Ted again."

Looking at his watch, the Drone continues, "Those are strong words coming from a man with only 23 hours and 55 minutes left to live." Tedford looks down somberly, defeated, then glances at Krystal, then back at the Drone again, knowing what he wants, "Ok, we'll go."

Tedford threw down a ten dollar bill on the table, and they walked out of the fine dining establishment in a single file line, Krystal in front, followed by Tedford, then the Drone.

In the parking lot, the Drone said "Let's use your car," as Krystal and Tedford stopped for a second, looking back for direction. As they walked, but even before they got close to the car, the Drone figured that based upon their current trajectory, Tedford's car was a late '80s, tan Chrysler "boat car", as they called them, with mismatched hubcaps, a California license plate with expired tags, low air pressure in the front passenger side tire, less then 20% tread left on all four tires, and that the body panels of the car were comprised of a large percentage of iron oxide. Furthermore, he surmissed that the gas tank was nearly full, probably just filled, since he could still detect faint residual gasoline vapors eminating from the gas cap vicinity.

As they climbed into the car, Tedford in the driver's side, Krystal in the front passenger's side, and the Drone in the backseat, the Drone wondered why an ex-Drone would choose to live this way: humble, simple, and rather haggard, to say the least. Even his choice of company seemed inelegant: not unattractive, yet somehow broken down, tired, and... well, used. "Get back on Virginia Street. Keep driving until I say so," was the Drone's unremarkable next command. Krystal was sitting sideways with her back against the door, no seat belt on, stealing glances at the oddly familiar stranger from time to time. This didn't seem to phase the man, but he kept an odd silence for the most part, despite Krystal's juvenile head-bobbing to the so-called music on the radio. Tedford seemed forlorn and disheartened, but not really afraid, like he was doing something he knew would inevitably happen, although perhaps not so soon.

As they drove slowly through town, hitting every red light imaginable it seemed, and despite the music flooding the car, Krystal kept searching the recesses of her mind in an attempt to conjure up any trace of why this man was somewhat familiar to her. She mused that perhaps he really was a 'Man in Black', just like the movie, and that perhaps he had erased her memory by having her look into a 'flashy thing', except that his sunglasses weren't completely black. Darn.

She also pondered on whether or not this was just some big joke, or perhaps a surprise that her Teddy Bear had set up for her. Certainly some weirdo couldn't have really poisoned her orange juice and his coffee without them tasting it, or the waitress seeing him. Besides, how would he have known what they had ordered, or which cup of coffee would be his? Maybe he poisoned the whole pot, and the whole carafe - but she didn't see anyone else getting sick. Of course, she herself didn't feel sick either, but what would happen in 23 hours and 39 minutes? She guessed she'd just have to wait and see.