Chapter 2
Richard has gone quiet, which is how I know my renderings are good. My boss talks over anything he doesn’t rate.
I click to the next slide. It shows the waterfront site in three-quarter perspective, late afternoon light, the glazing on the south elevation catching the harbor.
I spent weeks on getting the light right. The structural engineer told me in March that what I wanted was not buildable, and I sent him back to his desk, and it is now buildable.
The next slide is the interior atrium with the double-height cafe space at ground level. The two junior associates lean forward.
“Circulation,” I say, and move the laser pointer to the mezzanine. “Retail foot traffic here, office entrance here, cafe as soft buffer between them. Leasing have seen the revised footprint. They’re happy.”
Richard makes a small approving noise in his throat.
I take them through the rest of it. When I close the deck, the two juniors stand up at exactly the same moment Richard does. I gather my laptop cable.
“Good work,” Richard says. He’s come round the table. He puts his hand on my shoulder and leaves it there a beat longer than he needs. “Very good work. We’ll talk about the partner conversation properly after the waterfront goes to planning. You’ve earned that.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. He’s already moving toward the door. The juniors follow him out.
I finish packing up. I’ve been prodding Richard about a partnership for a couple of years now. If I don’t get it in the next six months, then this is going to be my last six months in the Linden Group. I’ve earned it. He better follow through.
I’d be a huge loss to the company and he knows it. My patience is wearing thin and I think he knows that too.
My office is on the fourteenth floor. I close the door, sit down, open my laptop. The waterfront scheme is still up. I minimize it.
I take a deep breath. I’m in the habit of giving myself five minutes of nothing after a successful presentation before I go back to the next thing.
I log in and check my personal email.
There’s a Bureau notification at the top of my inbox.
I look at it for a second.
Prime Match found. Compatibility Score: 97.2%
I sit back in my chair. What the hell.
Ninety-seven is a very high score, high enough that it counts as practically mandatory.
A damned prime match. I can’t say I’m overly pleased. I should be. A prime match is the closest thing that the real world has to a soul mate.
That’s a big deal. I’ve dated, of course. I’ve had a few fleeting relationships. None have ever stuck. I’m just not interested. I have a busy life and a full-time, demanding job. I don’t have time for a full-time relationship and I don’t particularly want one either.
I read further. Name: Briggs, Wyatt. Designation: Omega. Age: 23. Compatibility: 97.2%.
There’s that 97.2 again. I’m going to have to marry this guy, aren’t I? The Bureau doesn’t usually enforce matches, but it gets weird about prime ones. Legally, they can’t force them but there are enough penalties that it’s effectively mandatory.
The only positive thing is that this guy Briggs, whoever he is, is in the exact same position that I’m in. We’re both expected to suddenly enter a lifelong relationship with a stranger.
I feel a laugh bubble up. My mother is going to be over the moon.
I scroll to his profile next. He lives on a ranch outside of a town called Parish Ridge two states over. Recognition flickers. I know the name.
I know it because I’ve been there. I was there four years ago, during the early scoping work on the Linden development.
We stayed at a motel for two weeks and all I can remember is that there was nothing there.
There was one diner in town and the food was terrible.
There were no other options. I trawl my memory and try to remember what else was there, but I come up blank.
It’s not a town anyone goes to unless they’re being paid to.
That was the purpose of the development. Put the little town of Parish Ridge on the map and turn it into a place that people will actually want to move to and work in.
There’s a photograph. I scroll down to it.
It’s clearly not a photo taken for a dating-market profile. It’s the kind of shot a man might have on a passport. It’s just a headshot on a plain background. He isn’t smiling. His hair is dark and slightly too long for the collar. His eyes are pale — grey or green, hard to tell at this resolution.
He’s good looking enough but I don’t feel anything. He’s still a stranger.
The profile gave his age as twenty-three. Registered via blood drive, four months ago. Occupation listed as rancher. No prior Bureau engagement.
Rancher. What the hell am I supposed to do with a rancher? I’m not moving to a ranch. Is he supposed to come out here? Give up his ranch?
This whole thing is stupid.
I know some people find the whole prime match thing romantic but I never did. I’ve never paid it much attention. The chances of it happening to me seemed too remote.
I pick up my phone.
Eli answers on the third ring. He’s in a taxi, by the sound of it.
“What?”
I roll my eyes and try to resist telling him off for answering the phone like that. He already sees me as a stuck up older brother. I don’t need to give him more ammunition.
“I need you to listen to me for a minute without laughing.”
“Never going to happen,” Eli says. “What have you done now?”
“I’ve been matched.”
There’s a pause. Then Eli starts laughing. I hold the phone away from my ear until he’s done.
“Are you finished?”
“No. Give me a second.” He takes a breath. “Ninety what? It’s over ninety. You wouldn’t have called me otherwise. What is it?”
“Ninety-two.”
“Oh my God.” He’s laughing again. “Who is he?”
It takes a second for the name to come back. “His name is Wyatt Briggs. He’s a rancher.”
“A what?”
“A rancher,” I say again.
Eli laughs again. “Like, horses?”
“I don’t know what kind of ranch. The profile said rancher. I’m assuming cattle.”
“Jules,” Eli says. “I have never in my life been so delighted by anything.”
“I have to tell Mom and Dad. Don’t tell them first. Let me do it.”
“Oh sure, but please let me be there when you do.”
“No, just… Eli, this is a big thing. The Bureau is going to force it. You know that. I’m going to need you to have my back.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Always, you know that. But doesn’t mean that this isn’t hilarious.”
“Goodbye, Eli.”
“Send me a picture of you on a horse.” He giggles, actually giggles. “Even better, get your rancher boy toy to take a photo of you falling off one.”
I hang up.
I sit with the phone in my hand. Eli is an idiot. Eli has always been an idiot. It’s one of the more reliable things about my life.
I don’t call my mother. Let me at least meet the guy first.
The Omega Match Bureau has offices in every major city and then a number of smaller regional hubs which range from full offices to a single person covering the role in another government office. Parish Ridge does not have a hub or a representative.
The Bureau has arranged for us to meet half way. It’s a small regional office at enough of a distance that I have taken an overnight bag.
They haven’t given us much time to plan for it either. It’s set two days from now.
But I can do that. I shift things around on my calendar, moving a couple of meetings and take the day off work.
I leave before it is dark on Thursday morning and I’m at the regional office at eleven forty-five for a midday appointment. A woman on reception takes my name and my ID and directs me to a small seating area with a water cooler and three chairs.
There is a woman on the third chair. The second is empty. Briggs hasn’t arrived.
I pull out my phone and check my work emails, answering a few.
Time passes.
Twelve-fifteen.
Twelve-thirty.
At twelve forty-five a man comes out of an interior door. He’s in his forties, well-dressed, with a mildly apologetic bearing.
“Mr. Duffield.”
“Yes.”
“David Sun. I’m your liaison.” He doesn’t sit. “I’m sorry about the wait. I’m afraid we haven’t been able to reach Mr. Briggs this morning.”
“I see.”
“He hasn’t responded to the notification. He hasn’t confirmed the appointment. We can’t get through on the number that we have for him. I apologize on the Bureau’s behalf.”
Well, that was a waste of time.
“I’ve done my part,” I say. “I presume it’ll be recorded that I made effort. I’m not going to face any punitive charges?”
“You will not, Mr. Duffield, not if you continue to comply.”
Comply with what? Briggs isn’t here. “If Briggs gets in touch, let me know. I’ll come back for another meeting, but I don’t want to have to keep turning up if he’s not here.”
“You don’t need to worry about that. The next step is that you go to him.”
“You must be joking.”
“I realize that this is inconvenient but matches across country are actually fairly common. As are omegas refusing to come in for the first match, but you don’t need to be concerned. We find that most prime matches are happy to proceed with the match as soon as they meet each other.”
“Two weeks? I have a job.”
“We will compensate you for any time off.”
“Why can’t you make Briggs come to me? I’m not running around after some omega.”
Sun frowns. “Mr. Duffield, this is the process. You presenting yourself at the property is the next step. I want to be clear, Mr. Duffield. If you don’t comply throughout the process, there are penalties.”
This was how they got you. For me, that was my professional accreditations. Having Bureau black marks against my name would trigger a professional accreditation review. It would be goodbye to my partnership.
“I’m aware of how prime matches work.” I sigh. “You’ve got me over a barrel, don’t you?”
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Duffield.”
I ring my mother from the lobby on the way out of the building.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
“Hi, Mom. I’ve got some news.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Oh yes, nothing to worry about that. I’ve had a notification from the Bureau. I’ve got a prime match.”
“Oh Julian, that’s wonderful.”
“I haven’t met him yet, Mom.”
“What’s his name?”
“Wyatt Briggs.”
She starts peppering me with questions that I can’t answer. I know nothing about this man other than his name, where he lives and that he doesn’t want to meet me.
Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll arrive there and he’ll chase me off his land with a shotgun. Even the Bureau won’t expect me to comply in those circumstances.
I can only hope.