The hot water of the shower coursed down Grey’s body, rinsing away the sweat and easing some of his tension. He knew it would only last for a minute, maybe two, as the small water heater under the sink in his modified shipping container could not supply more than a few gallons of hot water at a time. Just over fifteen feet by six feet, the small apartment had a micro-shower, a toilet, a sink, a television and slow but adequate internet access. All the comforts of home crammed into one hundred square feet. Because he was a full Colonel, Grey did not have to share the container with anyone else and was able to use the top mattress of his metal bunkbeds as storage. Others were not so lucky. More than one married couple at the Embassy lived in similar containers, testing the true meaning of togetherness.

Grey twisted the stainless steel handle to shut off the water as soon as he felt it coming in cold, grabbed his towel from a hook over the toilet, and tried to towel off without leaning against any of the four wet shower walls. His five-foot ten athletic frame did not squeeze so well into the two foot by two foot space, but he knew he had it better than most of the US military training Afghan soldiers in the provinces and far better than any of the special forces guys who were out hunting Taliban and Al Qaeda. Except that none of them are having out of body experiences, he thought. He wondered for a moment which would be worse, getting shot at by the Taliban, or being stuck again in his imaginary world.

He stepped through a small door to the main area of the “apartment” and opened the tiny wall locker that stood in the corner. His eye happened upon the golden dog tag resting on the desk in front of the television. That can’t be real. He looked through the wall locker for his grey suit, a white shirt, a maroon tie. He had to be at the Ambassador’s apartment in fifteen minutes for a meeting with an Afghan Minister and didn’t want to be late. I know it’s real, but it shouldn’t be here. How could it have ended up here? Perhaps I picked it up thinking it was a coin?

While he dressed, Grey tried to recall picking anything up in the embassy compound this morning but could think of nothing. In any case, while many cats roamed free on the compound and ate scraps thrown by sympathetic cat-loving Americans, there were no dogs. Grey had seen pie-dogs in the streets and alleys of Kabul from time to time, but had never noticed a license on any of them. He didn’t even know if the Afghan government had an animal control agency. Doubtful.

Ensuring his weapon was securely in the concealed holster in his waistband, he buckled his belt and attached a few extra magazines to it behind his back. The SIG Sauer nine millimeter was invisible to the untrained eye once he had his suit jacket on, but he turned and checked in the wall locker mirror to be sure. It was like the wild west here. Everyone in uniform was visibly armed; soldiers, marines, security guards, police. Everyone not in uniform was either carrying concealed weapons or was being escorted by someone with visible or concealed weapons, or both. Whenever he ate a meal with a foreign Attache’ in a Kabul restaurant, Grey wondered what would happen if the Taliban attacked. Would I be hit by a Taliban bullet, or a stray from tables three, six, or nine?

Grabbing his keys, his business cards, and his Embassy badge, Grey turned to exit his hooch. He stopped at the door and reached back for the dog tag. Best not to leave it here, he thought. The walk from his hooch door to the Ambassador’s elevator in the housing building was less than five minutes. He greeted several colleagues waiting for the elevator and got a warm response from both of them.

“Another day, another dollar,” said Sally Romero, the Ambassador’s political counselor. Sally was career foreign service officer, a tough, intelligent grandmother who had volunteered for the one year assignment to Kabul.

“More like a dollar-fifty, with our Kabul per diem,” replied Peter Swanson, the Legal Attache’. Pete had served twenty-three years with the Federal Bureau of Investigation before volunteering to spend a year away from his wife and college aged kids serving Uncle Sam abroad. Grey marveled at the patriotism and selflessness that surrounded him every day. In the military you came to expect that kind of behavior, but it surprised you to find that it was prevalent in a lot of government agencies. More proof that stereotypes were usually wrong.

“What dollar-fifty? Did I miss a sign-up sheet?” Grey joked. They all chuckled. None of the quips were new, just part of the routine. I’m here, you’re here, we’re still alive, everything is fine. The smiles slowly melted away as elevator protocol took over. Quiet during the approach to the Ambassador’s residence.

The three of them rode up in the elevator in silence, each contemplating their own agency, office and personal problems. Each seemed to bear a burden of the day’s issues but they were too professional to share what may have really been bothering them in public. I’m sure they aren’t dealing with issues like mine, Grey thought. He reached into his pocket and found the tag, and was both comforted and troubled that it was still there.

As the elevator doors opened the three agency heads came to life, putting on business faces and turning on their professional extroversion. There would be fifty or more guests at the reception tonight and there was much business to attend to. A broad corridor led them from the elevator to the Ambassador’s residence, a stately multi-roomed apartment befitting the Ambassador Plenipotentiary and Extraordinary of the United States. Grey loved the official title but knew that the Ambassador loathed it even more than he loathed being called “your Excellency” by foreign dignitaries. From time to time Grey would refer to “his Excellency” within earshot just to watch the Ambassador’s eyes roll. It was a private joke shared by two professionals, but Grey never pushed his luck. “His Excellency” was the boss and could send him, well, just about anywhere he wanted.

“Colonel Connor, good to see you!” the Ambassador called across the room with a slight raise of his scotch glass. Sally and Pete took that as a cue and moved in opposite directions to find colleagues and guests scattered throughout the crowd. As he approached the Ambassador, Grey quickly made a mental note of the location of each of the Embassy Protection Detail agents on duty that night. He gave a quick smile or head bob of recognition to each, unremarked by anyone but the agents themselves. Another professional courtesy, they knew that Grey would ensure that he never obstructed their line of sight to the Ambassador. Everyone has a job to do. Grey smiled as he approached the Ambassador, shook his hand and said, “Good evening sir.”

“Minister,” the Ambassador began, “have you met Colonel Connor, our Defense Attache’?”

The Minister was tall for an Afghan, and wore a charcoal pinstripe suit that looked custom made. “I have not had the pleasure,” he said, thrusting out his hand towards Grey. Grey took it and returned a firm but warm handshake as he looked into the Minister’s eyes.

“Salaam alaikum, sir. Shoma chitor hasten?” Grey said in fluent Dari. He only spoke a few words, but those he knew were pronounced with absolutely no American accent.

The Minister’s eye widened immediately. “Alaikum salaam! How am I? I am amazed to meet an American who speaks Dari! Pleased to meet you Colonel…?”

“Please call me Grey, sir. And I’m afraid I speak but a few words of your beautiful language. The Ambassador keeps me very busy.” The Ambassador loved the fact that Grey could put just about anyone at ease, it made having difficult conversations easier. “Do I remember that you are the Minister of Communications and Information Technology, sir? I seem to recall a picture from a ministry brochure.”

The Minister turned to the Ambassador with a broad smile. “You train them well Mr. Ambassador! He speaks Dari and knows the ministers on sight. Can you spot a Talib as well, Grey?” he asked, looking back for a response.

“Let’s hope I don’t have to show you that skill tonight sir,” Grey quipped. The Ambassador laughed.

“Very good, Grey. I hope as well.”

“Minister Adbullah says that the fiber optic cables for the national telecommunications network should be complete by the end of the year, Grey.” The Minister nodded. “The only problem is moving several large pieces of equipment from Bagram to the west. I was hoping you could work with him to find a reasonable solution.” Missions came twenty-four hours a day, sometimes via telephone, sometimes over a glass of scotch in the Ambassador’s residence. This one would be challenging, but hardly beyond Grey’s capabilities. Pulling a business card from his inner suit pocket, Grey extended it to the Minister with both hands.

“I’d be happy to call upon you whenever you have the time sir. We can discuss the details of your dilemma and possible solutions.” He pointed to the number at the bottom of the card. “This is my mobile number, you can call me any time of day or night.”

“Thank you Grey, I will call you tomorrow if you don’t mind,” the Minister responded. He handed his own card to Grey, who pocketed it quickly and smiled at the Minister.

“Certainly sir,” Grey replied. He took a slight step backwards, allowing the Minister to move on to other guests if he so desired, without actually severing the conversation. The Ambassador took this as an opportunity.

“Excuse me Mr. Minister, I must attend to other guests,” the Ambassador said, while backing away and turning adeptly towards another group of people.

The Minister did not take the opportunity to leave, but instead turned to face Grey head on. “Might I ask you a question Colonel Connor?” Minister Abdullah asked.

“Yes sir, of course.” Grey said with a smile.

“I notice the Ambassador has a nice collection of antiques and paintings from the United States, and several pieces from Africa and Europe as well,” the Minister said, looking about the large living room.

“Yes he does,” Grey said as he turned to look as well. “He has picked up items of interest at most of his former duty locations.”

“I was wondering if you knew the origin or background of any of them? I am something of a collector myself,” the Minister said.

“I know that mask on the wall is from Burundi, his last duty station, and I think that vase is from China, but I’m afraid I’m no expert. I could ask the Ambassador if you like,” Grey offered.

“I was wondering about the piece on the piano actually. Have you looked at it before? I can’t say as I’ve ever seen anything like it.” The Minister moved towards the grand piano in the corner of the Ambassador’s living room and gestured towards the large candelabra that sat upon it. The multi-tiered candelabra was so covered with verdigris, that Grey could not tell from a distance if it was copper, brass or bronze. More than thirty green metallic arms radiated out at varying heights from a central stand and each held a small white candle, making the whole appear more like a fanciful tree than a piece of formal furniture. Grey slowed as he approached it.

“It is really exquisite,” the Minister remarked, “perhaps you can ask him about it later for me? We have nothing like it here in Afghanistan.”

“I can certainly ask him sir,” Grey replied helpfully. He glanced again at the candelabra then turned to face the Minister. Oh no!

The Minister’s face began to melt and stretch as the room began to spin. Grey knew that The metal that comprised that candelabra was not brass, bronze or copper, but viridium, a rare element of greenish hue that could be found only in Grey’s imagination. He had seen that very candelabra before in the dining room of the High King of Mawdor. He first saw it when he created it, placed it, and described it to players in his world. It could not be here. It can not be here.

Grey tried to concentrate on the Minister’s face, but it had become part of the massive swirl of color and sound that assaulted Grey’s vision. He could feel pressure at the back of his neck and heard a keening sound in his ears. He felt as though his stomach was being pressed into his backbone as some unseen force pushed him rapidly backwards. All sense of time and location vanished and Grey found himself floating gently in a warm pool of water. After the severe shock to his system, it was comfortable to just lie motionless in the water, free from Embassy troubles, from Taliban attacks, from disturbing anachronisms in his alternate realities. Perhaps he could just lie here a while and contemplate the problems he was facing. Just a few minutes.

” You going to lie there all day lad?” Stonefist asked. “We’re not getting any closer to the coast with you lying about in the tall grass.”

Grey opened his eyes and saw the dwarf standing over him, peering down and tugging on his braids with a large grin. Dirlonian sweet grass waved all around him and tickled his bare arms and legs. He could smell the warm, slightly metallic smell of Dirlonian soil beneath him and saw that the sun had progressed several hours across the sky.

“Oh no.” He didn’t move to get up.

“Well, you almost caught the thing. Too bad it was faster than you.” Stonefist extended his hand to help his friend up and Grey took it. “I picked up your things when you ran off,” he said, “though I really wish you’d try to keep your trousers on. At least promise you’ll not do that when we are in towns…” Stonefist was still grinning.

“I have to get my powers back under control,” Grey said.

“Why, so you can get back through your Nexus?” Stonefist asked.

“No,” Grey replied, taking his things from the grinning dwarf, “So I can shut you up!”

This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 23rd, 2008 at 10:34 pm and is filed under Behind the Screen. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.