Eugene called German the next day, since he thought German probably wouldn't appreciate being called in the middle of the night. Admittedly he had very little idea of what German's schedule looked like, and it seemed like his sort ought to be a night owl. Nevertheless courtesy prevailed, and instead he called just before heading out to work.
German picked up, and he didn't sound sleepy. But the conversation was decidedly brief. He asked for Vincent's phone number. Eugene gave it.
"Will you meet with him soon?"
"That's his business and mine," German said. His voice had an edge of warning to it.
Eugene wanted to laugh. "Really? So now you're eager to protect his privacy?"
"He's a prospective client."
Eugene really did snort now. "Sure, now that you have your ten thousand. If you don't take him on, by the way, I want that back."
"Good luck, kid. You going to give me the eighteen thousand after I meet with him?"
"I'll give you the eighteen thousand when you tell me he's settled in with his partner. Not before." Really he ought to insist that German wait until Vincent was already working for Gattaca just to keep him invested but that could be months and he didn't know how long German would be willing to wait. This would make German get the first steps done, at least, and from there in he'd have to be motivated by the idea of getting some of Vincent's salary, and doubtless a certain amount of money from whatever valid he was swindling as well.
Besides, something about making long term plans made Eugene uncomfortable. Like he might lose all his money in the next couple months or Vincent might change his mind or something. He didn't like thinking too far into the future; it felt too abstract, too malleable, even when he knew that it really was very predictable: he'd still be working at Gattaca for as long as he wanted to, might even get a raise into an administrative position at some point. His salary would remain steady, his job ensured. No risks, no dangers, except those no one could really avoid—fatal diseases and car crashes and the like…
And then he was off the phone with German, unable to remember if the man had even said goodbye before hanging up. He needed to focus more but he had a slight headache and he was tired, and he needed to get to work nonetheless.
Well, he'd done his best. Vincent would have to take it from here.
/…/…/
Vincent was a bit on edge. Couldn't be helped. Last night had been the craziest night he'd had in quite a while, even more surreal than the night he'd gotten the call from McGowan—had that really been only about two weeks ago? It felt like a long time. As if the world had changed drastically since then. Two weeks ago he'd been ready to go down on his knees for a lab assistant position at a half-rate university. Now he was older, slyer. He could feel a difference in himself even from the person he was early yesterday. He was going to get a job at Gattaca. His will was set in iron on that matter. But he wasn't naïve enough anymore to think he would get it by any normal means, any legal means. No, he was going to beg, borrow and steal someone else's ladder. The thought made him shiver a little even now (degenerate was practically a swear word) but it also felt right, as if he'd always known someday he would be this desperate, someday he would decide to take it this far.
His coworkers seemed to have noticed he was off, too. Caesar, rarely solicitous, asked him if anything was wrong, and a couple others came up to him and gave him a pat on the back and asked him how his day was going in oddly friendly voices. Tina and Miguel kept on giving him strange looks during lunch break and finally when they broke apart to do their separate jobs Miguel said in a very nice voice, "Hey Vincent, are there any more launches today?"
"There's one at two pm," Vincent said automatically. He'd missed the morning launch today, preoccupied by his own thoughts, but he always knew when they were going up. He memorized the schedule a week beforehand just so he wouldn't miss any of them. All that seemed petty now.
"You gonna watch it?"
"Yeah, sure," Vincent said. "I should get back to mopping. See you guys."
He hurried off, and he heard Tina and Miguel talking in low voices behind him.
So maybe he was not doing a great job of hiding his excitement. It was hard for him to focus on conversation or act casual when he knew that something wonderful was going to happen so soon—wonderful and frightening at the same time. He tried to pay attention to what people said to him but failed. At least his mopping was as good as usual. Muscle memory carried him through the day, and no one could complain about the quality of his work.
He missed watching the launch at two. Only realized that when the day was over. That wasn't good, that break in habit. It would be an obvious sign that he was thinking about something. And, too, he wondered if perhaps Eugene might have watched it, and might have been waiting for him to come over and join. They were friends again now, after all. Friends and partners in crime. Well, not partners. But Eugene was his enabler, his connection. Now their innocent work relationship had turned illicit. Vincent wondered if, seeing Eugene, he would have been able to keep apprehension, anticipation, off his face.
He took the subway home. The station was only a five minute walk from his apartment. It was hot outside. Summer had set in, and he was wearing his work clothes and a light jacket on top because he hated walking the streets looking like the janitor he was. Sweat began to build up on the back of his neck. It was late in the evening, but the heat would not leave. The night, doubtless, would be long and silent.
There was a man waiting at the door to his apartment.
The man was maybe five and a half feet, not tall at all. He had a widow's peak but his hair was neat and orderly. A bit of a large nose and an easy smile on his face as Vincent approached. He'd been leaning against the door but as Vincent drew nearer he straightened and held out a hand.
Hesitantly, Vincent shook it. "Hello."
If this was the connection, he'd worked fast. But he wasn't sure how to ask that. Couldn't just ask someone you met on the street whether they were in the business of borrowed ladders.
"Vincent Freeman." The man pronounced the words as if they were from a foreign language. Yet he seemed entertained by them at the same time. His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"You must be German," Vincent said.
"Yes. May I come inside? I thought it might be rude to let myself in."
Vincent laughed a little, awkward. "It's, uh, it's locked."
"Yes. I thought you might not want uninvited guests, considering the neighborhood you live in. Not that I'm uninvited. You did want to see me?"
"Yes."
German gestured at the door. Vincent fumbled with the keys before sticking one in the lock. His hands were shaking. That was bad, that was a very invalid thing for them to do. He'd thought this morning he had nerves of steel. Now, faced with the man himself, he knew he was still the eager young thing he'd been yesterday.
He opened the door and made way for German, but German stood waiting until he entered, and then followed him in. His gaze swept over the parlor. Ratty couch, optimistically big in case Vincent ever actually asked someone over. A couple half hearted pictures on the wall, none of Vincent himself or of his family but of landscapes, mountains edged against a brilliant night sky. Stacks of books about astronomy, physics, the history of space travel, one or two on legislation regarding equality in the work place that he hadn't cracked open since realizing they weren't worth the paper they were printed on. A rug that he'd managed to keep reasonably clean by taking his shoes off before coming in, which he did now.
"You have a nice little place," German said.
"I try to keep it tidy."
"If you agree to my proposition, you will have to move out, you understand. Your new roommate might not be as tidy as you." German smiled a tight smile. "My invalid clients are always achievers—my valid clients, not always so. Well, they certainly do achieve, but they might not always keep a room so neat. They often have frustrating habits. Do you think you could deal with the stress of cohabitation, Vincent?"
"Yes, sir. I'm a janitor. I know how to deal with other people's messes."
"Clean living." German took a pack of cigarettes out of the inside of his coat. "Do you smoke, Vincent?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Most valids do." German offered him a cigarette and then a lighter, both of which he accepted.
They sat down on the ratty couch. It was a nice couch in its own way, wide and orange and not completely destroyed and very cheap when he got it at a second-hand store, but not really suited for doing business with a gentleman. He winced as he watched German's suit rub against the worn fabric, even the colors clashing. Well, but German technically wasn't a gentleman, even if he acted like one. So there was that.
"Tell me what you want from me, Vincent."
"I…you know."
"Tell me. If you can't verbalize it, you don't have the guts to follow through."
"I want you to connect me with a valid who will give me his ladder and his genetic material. I want to disguise myself as this valid so that I can get a job at Gattaca. I want to go into space."
"Ambitious. Like I said. You're a good match for me, Vincent…apart from your frankly terrible genetics but what the hell, Gattaca judges but I don't. You know what a Gattaca salary is?"
"Yes, sir."
"Twenty percent goes to me. Half of what remains goes to your partner. But I'm sure you're not in this for the money."
"No, sir."
German had taken a cigarette out for himself. He took a long, slow drag and then released the smoke into the air. "How much are you willing to give, Vincent Freeman?"
He thought about what Eugene had said, how much he would have to give up from the get-go. "I'd give up 'Vincent Freeman', for starters."
"Well, that's a given."
"I'd give up my old life. I'll even fake my death if necessary—"
"It won't be, no one cares about a janitor."
Vincent swallowed before soldiering on. "The money, sure, fine. I'm fine with moving. I'll change my appearance. I'll give one hundred percent."
"And maybe get halfway there…without my help." German blew out another breath of smoke. "But you're lucky, kid. I like you. Well, I think you're okay. And Jerome is head over heels."
"Jerome? Oh. Yeah."
"He likes you a lot."
"I guess we get along."
"Get along." German laughed. "He set you up with a connection like me. That's not just getting along. What's your connection with Jerome?"
"We're friends."
"And how does that work, between a physicist and a janitor?"
Vincent crossed his arms. Why were they talking about Eugene? He'd set up the deal but he wasn't here, wasn't really relevant either. "It works fine. When you aren't a bigot."
German's eyebrows lifted. "Okay, okay. I guess we've learned you can keep your mouth shut. Oh, and that's vital, by the way. You being able to keep a secret."
"I can handle it."
"If you get caught, you and your partner did all of this alone. You got the equipment alone, you found each other alone. You don't want to mention me. Trust me on that." German smiled a wide smile.
Vincent smiled back. His throat was tight. God help him if his asthma came back now—hadn't bothered him in a long time but this would be just the moment, wouldn't it? "Once you set me up, you don't exist to me."
German wagged a finger. "Except you're paying me."
"You'll get your money."
"Mm." German stood. "I think I can hook you up. There's someone I have in mind, if you can deal with a difficult personality."
"I think I can handle it."
"You think or you know?"
"I know. I can handle anything."
"Good. I'll be in touch." German paused at the door. "It's great, you being protective of Jerome. But you don't need to protect him from me. I like Jerome. I'm on his side." He opened the door. "Well, always good to meet one of his friends. Like I said, I'll be in touch."
He closed the door behind him.
Vincent heaved a breath. Almost turned into a panic attack, but he grounded himself, clenching his fingers into the material of the couch. He was fine. He was fine. He hadn't even realized he was frightened, really, until German was gone. But there was no need to be frightened. German was a friend, and he was taking a risk but it would help him. He was reaching toward his dreams; now he might finally get somewhere.
He had a late dinner. It only occurred to him now that he should have offered German something to eat or drink—he wanted the man to like him, after all. But it was too late. Maybe next time, though it was possible they wouldn't meet here next time, but somewhere else. He'd said he'd be in touch. That wasn't very concrete.
Vincent wondered how long it might take him. A day? A week? A month? He'd said he had someone in mind, but it might take a while to wrangle. Probably Vincent didn't need to worry about anything yet. He could relax for a little while.
Really, though, he doubted he'd be able to even relax enough to get some sleep tonight.
He tried calling Eugene to tell him how things had gone—it was his business and German's, but he thought Eugene, experienced with German, might be able to offer some advice. But Eugene's line was busy. He wondered if perhaps he was talking to Irene, if the two were arranging a date or laughing over gossip. Things two valids could do, things a valid and an invalid could not as easily. German had been right to question his friendship with Eugene. It was always on the edge of a precipice.
He went to bed. He would see Eugene tomorrow, as he always did.
/…/…/
When Eugene answered the call from German, for the first time perhaps in his life he was eager to hear what the man had to say. "So?"
"So you'll have to give me the eighteen thousand in…two weeks," German said. "More or less. You know this business is never set in stone."
He spoke familiarly, as if they were comrades, which maybe they were now. Still, Eugene didn't know whether the business was set in stone, how fast it moved or how unsteadily. He didn't know a thing about the business, but German wanted him to feel like he did, like he and German really were working together. Then he wouldn't hesitate to bury himself deeper.
Hearing German's voice made him almost regret connecting the man with Vincent, but it was too late for that. "So you'll work with him, then?"
"We'll see how he and his partner match. It's a precarious thing. There has to be chemistry, and it's not all physical."
"Good God. This isn't a love affair you're trying to set up."
"No. It's a business enterprise, and it's two men exchanging lives. It's trickier than a love affair. Closer, more intimate." German chuckled. "Isn't that why you're afraid of it, Jerome?"
"No. You know my reasons." Eugene huffed. "But Vincent will do fine. I'll get you the money when you get him connected."
"He's a nice boy. I can see why you like him. The kind of guy you just feel bad for. Makes you want to give him a hug."
"Vincent is a perfectly competent man." Eugene bit back his anger. "Were you calling for anything else?"
"Maybe I just like talking to a friend."
"We're not friends. We're associates. And we're barely that."
"I'm proud of you, Jerome. You're doing a good thing for Vincent, even if he doesn't know it. Twenty-eight thousand dollars…"
"You know I've never cared about money."
"Good, then, give me the fifty thousand I asked for."
"German."
German laughed. "I'll talk to you later, Jerome. But you sound good. It's always nice talking to you."
/.../.../
/.../.../
/.../.../
AN: Yes, this fic updates really really slowly. but i swear it will end eventually, probably in about two chapters. reviews would probably help to motivate me to actually get there.