You Expected What?

Earlier in the day, after Junior and Millie had already gone for their walk:

Seaman Eliza Tran didn't like Reynard Walters. Not even a little.

With all that had happened since the incident known as the Failsafe System Integration, dealing with people like Reynard Walters wasn't high on Eliza's preferred list of things to do. But she'd been assigned to this section of Galatea as the Coast Guard's so-called 'Reclaimed Liaison' so she had no choice. When this 'Reynard' individual took it upon himself to 'report a suspected Reclaimed', it was her sad duty to respond. 

So Eliza had called Sergeant Dwyer. They'd agreed to meet out front of the mid-sized condominium: Myron Heights.

"Called in on their own or 'reported'?" Dwyer inquired as soon as they exited their respective vehicles and approached each other. After one glance at Eliza's disgruntled face, the seasoned police officer answered his own question. "Reported," he snorted and shook his head.

"Why are there so many Galateans willing to sell out their neighbours to what they seem to believe is some kind of secretive government conspiracy?" Eliza complained with genuine bewilderment.

With dark hair and an athletic build, Seaman Eliza Tran didn't fit most civies' idea of a seasoned military officer. Because she wasn't. Galatea didn't have a formal military of its own. Due to their proximity to the mainland and various political compromises, the Galatean Coast Guard (GCG) was the island nation's sole maritime service.

Eliza also knew that she had been specifically chosen for her current duty by her commanding officer due to her youth and 'unassuming demeanour'. Because the woman had flat-out told her so. With a smirk, no less.

Eliza didn't know how she was supposed to feel about that assessment. She suspected any protests to the contrary would only have amused the old battleaxe, so she'd kept any reaction to herself.

"I blame online memes and social media echo chambers," Sergeant Dwyer grunted an insightful response to her earlier question. Eliza gave him a side-eye and the greying, veteran police officer chuckled.

"Let's get this over with, Sergeant. Follow me." Eliza sighed and turned toward the condominium's entrance.

"Yes, sir, Seamen E3 Tran, sir!" Sergeant Dwyer saluted with lazy casualness in contrast with his overly formal acknowledgement.

"That's, 'aye aye, sir' when responding to an order," Eliza replied, not even half-heartedly.

"Yes, sir, but I'm too old to learn new tricks, sir!" Dwyer immediately rebutted with that same casual tone. He chuckled again at her eye roll as the two entered the building.

Eliza's current assignment was a mishmash of crossed jurisdictions and hurried political horse-trading that went way above her pay grade. She didn't know why the Galatean Coast Guard was involved in what appeared on the surface to be a civil duty such as door-to-door patrols and civilian outreach. A fact she'd told more people than she could count over the last day or so.

But the result was that, Eliza, an 'unassuming' fresh young GCG Seaman, was technically the thirty-plus-year police force veteran's 'superior officer'. A situation that Sergeant Malcolm 'Mack' Dwyer seemed to find far more amusing than she did herself.

Inside the building's lobby a tall, thin man was pacing back and forth. When he made eye contact with Eliza she could literally see the moment he went from relieved to confused as he first took in her uniform, then her youthful appearance. 

Then she tracked his eyes as they glanced over her shoulder. The man took in Dwyer's sturdy and no-nonsense presence behind her and immediately returned to looking relieved.

Eliza sighed. She couldn't even find it within herself to blame the man for how he reacted. Though after only a day of similar situations, she was certainly getting sick of them.

"Mr. Walters?" Eliza prompted, stepping forward.

The man blinked, then straightened like a student called on unexpectedly. "Yes, that's me." He offered a hand, then awkwardly withdrew it when Eliza didn't immediately reciprocate.

"I'm Seaman Eliza Tran, Galatean Coast Guard. This is Sergeant Dwyer, Nephyra Police Department. You called about an individual in the building who might be one of the so-called 'Reclaimed'?"

Reynard nodded a bit too quickly. "Yes, yes. Thank you for responding so promptly. I wasn't sure if anyone would take it seriously, but I didn't know who else to call, and - well - it's not that I have anything against them, but we don't really know how this condition works, do we? Who they could infect? Or what might trigger another episode?"

Dwyer let out a long breath through his nose, loud enough to make Reynard glance his way.

"And by 'them' you mean . . ?" Eliza asked coolly.

"The . . . the Reclaimed," Reynard said, lowering his voice like the word itself might cause offence. "The young man. Or maybe it's his . . . ah . . . lady friend. He lives two units away from me, but I don't know where she's from. There was a strange, fishy smell in his unit, and she was acting even stranger, refusing to let me in. She said it was from their -" Reynard cut himself off. Eliza saw his skin flush "- sexual relations," he mumbled, so low she barely heard him. Then he hurriedly continued, avoiding eye contact with her while Eliza raised her eyebrows and Dwyer outright guffawed. "But she didn't fool me. I knew it wasn't . . . well, that."

Eliza flipped open the small tablet at her hip and began tapping notes with practiced neutrality. "So, to confirm: you have no direct knowledge of anything untoward happening; you did not witness any hostile attackers or unusual activity; you interrupted a couple's private relations in the sanctity of their own home; and your reason for your suspicions was because you detected, and I quote: 'a strange, fishy smell'?"

Eliza raised an eyebrow, barely managing to hold back a look of disdain.

Reynard hesitated. "Well - no! I mean, yes? But not like that! You make it sound so . . . so innocuous. Like I'm making things up!"

"Are you?" Dwyer interjected, voice flat. "Filing false reports could be a very serious offence, with very serious consequences." The Sergeant's presence seemed to inflate suddenly as he stepped closer to Dwyer. He did not reach for his police-issued sidearm. Yet, somehow, he angled his body in such a way that he drew attention to it and made it seem like he could.

Eliza was pretty impressed by that. Now that's experience, she mused. Outwardly, she gave her companion a subtle warning glance, but didn't try to rein him in. She didn't like Reynard either, after all.

For his part, Reynard flinched.

"Hold on! Hold on! Aren't you going about this the wrong way? You're the government . . . enforcers, or whatever, right? Aren't you supposed to be going after the gods da- er, I mean the Reclaimed? Not me! I'm on your side! This is not what I expected!"

"You expected what, exactly?" Dwyer practically growled. "We'd drive up in black, unmarked vehicles and relocate the troublesome little Reclaimed so they wouldn't stink up your condo? What about their rights? I've spent more time protecting innocent citizens caught in a situation beyond anyone's understanding from people like you on this assignment!  Not the other way around!"

Reynard raised both hands, sputtering in panic as he tried to explain himself to the irate police officer. Meanwhile, Eliza's eyes widened. She hadn't realized her ally was quite so passionate about the topic of the Reclaimed.

Just then, the lobby doors opened up. Eliza turned to look as two people and a dog walked in.

The moment Reynard saw them, he cut himself off mid-babble and pointed.

"There. That's them. One of them has got to be a Reclaimed!" he accused in a desperate attempt to deflect Dwyer's attention from himself.

\ - / - \ - /

Millie froze. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed.

". . . We're sorry, who's what now?" she said in a voice two octaves too high.

"Reynard?" Junior cocked his head as he recognised his neighbour's voice. "Millie, who's here? Wait, what did he just . . ?"

Millie could practically see both the police officer and the woman from the Coast Guard assess Junior's words, his mirrored sunglasses, the slightly off-target way his face didn't quite point in their direction, and of course, the presence of Achilles with his harness.

The police officer's face, which had looked decidedly unhappy when they'd entered the lobby, darkened even further. While the younger woman in grey first looked surprised, she quickly tried to blank the expression from her face.

Millie's brain kicked into overdrive as she scrambled for a way out of this. She didn't know what exactly the uniforms knew. So all she could think to do was deny, deny and deny some more.

"No, no," Millie said quickly, throwing a protective arm across Junior's chest. "Don't say anything. I've got this."

Eliza raised an eyebrow as Millie straightened to her full height and pointed right back at Reynard.

"I don't know who you are, or who you think we are," Millie announced airily, "but we don't even live here."

Junior turned his head toward her, baffled. "What?"

"We're tourists," Millie continued, louder this time. She dredged up her old accent, which she'd consciously suppressed for so many years that it no longer came naturally. "From Kallidora. Yeppers. Just passin' on through. Big fans of . . . of local architecture," she said, pronouncing it 'AR-KEY-TEK-TUR'.

Eliza blinked.

Reynard looked completely thrown off.

Dwyer choked back a laugh and Achilles rotated his ears, obediently alert at his partner's side.

Junior simply sighed and muttered: "Whatever this is, you're just making it worse."

"No, I'm making it legally murky," Millie whispered out of the corner of her mouth. "That's better."