Chapter Text
Campbell County Community College… “quite a feat of alliteration” was Mitch’s first thought as he approached the main campus. So here it was… the place where it was all happening. Mitch shuddered involuntarily. Nothing about the well-kept grounds and sturdy brick buildings of the college seemed to suggest anything about the sinister work going on inside. Looking at it now, with the sun shining and students wandering around the sidewalks in twos and threes, Mitch hardly believed it himself. But if he had learned anything in life, it was that appearances could never be trusted.
“You have to be careful with this one,” he muttered to himself as he walked into the main foyer. Simply barging into the office and asking to meet Eugene Meltsner would look suspicious, or at the very least, rather strange. Best to play it safe… but how to stay subtle? Pretend to be a student, perhaps… he strode confidently into the main office, and managed his purpose with one simple question.
“Hey, how do I find the computer science lab?” And he was there within five minutes.
Again, just an ordinary-looking place… smaller than the computer lab at his own university… but nothing ominous or foreboding about it. But, of course, they probably weren’t conducting the research itself in such an open place. Some more restricted area, perhaps, or even Meltsner’s office. He found himself wondering for the hundredth time just what kind of man Meltsner was. He hadn’t found anything of real use online… he had a stellar academic record and quite a few rewards for rather outstanding scientific achievements, but Mitch hadn’t found much of a connection yet.
“Greetings and salutations,” a young man emerged from behind a computer and advanced with hand outstretched. “I presume that you have arrived for the demonstration?”
Mitch held his breath as he shook the man’s hand. He recognized him at once as Eugene Meltsner… the tall, lanky frame, oversized bottle glasses, and mop of dark brown hair were unmistakable. He was the perfect stereotype of the genius scientist.
“Um… demonstration… yeah, sure…” Mitch stammered, unprepared for this sort of a welcome. “You’re Professor Meltsner?”
“Indubitably,” the smile he offered couldn’t have been taken as anything less than genuine and Mitch found himself wondering just how much of the whole situation this man understood. He couldn’t possibly realize what Andromeda was up to. “Might I inquire as to your cognomen?”
“Huh?” Mitch stared at the professor.
“What is your name?”
“Oh, uh… Mitchell. Robert Mitchell.”
“Robert Mitchell…” He scanned a clipboard and shook his head. “I fear that your name is not on my register. Are you certain that you enrolled for this particular class?”
“Ah… no, sorry… I mean…” Mitch fumbled for a believable explanation. “I’m new to the area and I’m pretty interested in computers. I had heard your name come up in connection to the computer science department here and, well…”
“I see,” the professor nodded in understanding. “Perhaps you seek integration into one of our distinguished organizations that deal with the inner workings of computing devices.” Mitch raised his eyebrows as Meltsner prattled on. The man talked like a dictionary. It was a full five minutes before Mitch could get a word in edge-wise, and that was only because it was time for the class to begin.
Novacom Broadcasting wasted no time in establishing a firm foothold in Odyssey. Before long it had practically overtaken the airwaves. It came rather as a surprise… just overnight the change was made and no one even saw it coming.
Although Mitch hadn’t been back to Whit’s End since his first day in town, the place was constantly on his mind. As he moved through the community, he found endless ways to subtly mention it, trying to gather all the information he could from the townspeople. That was how he found out about KYDS Kid’s Radio, the radio station broadcasted from the shop itself… and the TV station also connected to the shop, B-TV. He tuned into KYDS for the first time on the day he was moving into his new office in Novacom headquarters. As the radio crackled into life, the voice of a young woman was introducing “Candid Conversations with Connie”.
“Connie, eh?” Mitch grinned to himself as he dug office supplies out of a rather bedraggled-looking cardboard box. “I’m gonna have to meet this girl… Candid Conversations with Connie... What is up with these people and alliteration, anyway?” He shoved things recklessly into desk drawers, accidentally misplacing a jar of paper clips to the point where they wouldn’t be found for the next several weeks, as he listened to the radio. He liked Connie’s voice… upbeat, energetic, cheerful… it made him smile. But then she introduced a guest to the show, and he forgot everything else, turning all his attention to the newcomer.
Tom Riley… a name that had come up in a recent memo. He knew that Novacom wanted Riley’s land… but for what, he wasn’t sure yet. As he listened to the show, he learned that Connie worked for Tom Riley. So many connections to Whit’s End… how did it all tie together? Or was it all just coincidence? Most likely at least half of it was coincidence.
“Testing, testing, one, two, three. Novacom transmission test…” a new voice broke through, crackling with static. Mitch groaned. Connie’s voice filtered through the static and then was overlaid again by the Novacom test. The signals were interfering with each other.
Mitch switched the radio off and sat down at his cluttered desk. He was usually more organized than this, but his mind was pulled in so many directions at once that he could hardly seem to think straight. And of course, he always ended up back here, staring at a computer screen… he sighed regretfully as he opened his laptop and typed in the password. It was a beautiful day and he wanted out of this office. He paused, fingers hovering above the keyboard, and then slammed the top of the laptop down with an air of finality. Let the research wait a while… he was going to do some field work.
That is… if scouting out the antique shop on Main Street counted as field work. Which it probably didn’t, but he didn’t care. And when he sat back down at his computer hours later that evening, he was glad he did. The owners of the store, Jack and Joanne Allen, were kind people. People he felt that he could trust. And that was the rarest, most valuable thing of all in his life.