Ubertines '07: The Coffee Machine on the Ninth Floor (451 hits)
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Submitted by Coyote (View user info) at 2007-01-29 11:57:01 EST
If it wasn't for that coffee machine on the ninth floor, none of this would have happened. Eben would still be alive, I'd still have my place as old Captain Macy's Barista, and the memory of Lucretia Mitchell wouldn't be forever teasing and tormenting me from just over the dark horizon of my nightmares.
Weigh against that in the cosmic ledger the time we had together and the espresso we managed to coax out of the old plumbed-in boiler and filter apparatus - so we were giddy not just with infatuation but with caffeination - and I defy any of you to say you'd have chosen to act differently.
It started out like any other job, with the flashing red light on the switchboard and old man Macy's voice thundering at us full of all the Biblical invective he could muster. Turned out there was going to be a little bit more to this than a typical raid on HR to get the beans, this time: one of the sentries had caught Jim Peebles sneaking around our floor, looking for a way up past accounting on seven. Now Jim was an analyst in the old days, and his clan was set up on six these days, and some disputed territory in the cubicle farm on five. For him to come all the way down to tech support trying to find a way around eight was nothing short of astonishing.
Give my old mate Eben a little credit on this one, he guessed the motive behind Jim's circuitous attempt at getting around the lunatic mob in accounting before I did.
"Analyst clan knows about another machine," he blurted out, cutting off Macy mid-rant. Normally not a wise move, but the old man was too excited to notice.
"Aye, you got it, Eben. We put him to the trial by stapler, and he confessed: admin had a fancy Italian espresso jobber up on nine for the directors, and it's still there. Analysis has been sneaking up there for weeks to get their fix, but the accountants got wind of their movements and ambushed 'em. They lost two baristas and their access, so Jim-boy was sent out to find another way up."
Looked like I wouldn't be needing my custom burr grinder for this job; if this machine up on nine was a professional Italian model, it'd have it's own grinder built right in. Macy didn't have to spell out the implications of this discovery. Since the heating element in our crappy old Bunn-O-Matic had died, morale had gone to hell. If we could get back not just a coffee supply, but actual espresso, there was no limit to what we could do. It was gonna take some work though.
"You two are the best we've got. Head up to nine and take control of that machine. Once we have it in hand, I'll open up talks with HR and we can negotiate for some of their beans in exchange for a share of the coffee."
There was no doubt it was going to be a dicey operation. If analysis found a new way up to nine, then we'd be SOL. Still, the fact that we'd caught Peebles completely disoriented down here on three meant we probably had some time. No one knew their way around the building like we did. HR was motivated though: they controlled the beans, and if they got the machine too, they'd have the rest of the building under their pretty pink-lacquer-nailed thumbs.
All except for accounting. Fucking savages.
Which reminded me, we'd need to be armed. I grabbed a golf club we'd lifted off a lost management type who'd gotten separated from his herd, and tossed Eben the softball bat left over from last year's company picnic. I doubted we'd live to see the time when this company would have another picnic, and even if we did have one, I doubted they'd want to use this same bat in the softball game. The bloodstains, and worse, clinging to its scarred surface, would have put people off their beer. For a job when we might brush with accounting, I would have rather had guns, but that just wasn't an option. The head of accounting, Wild Tim Lawson, was said to have a pair of old duelling pistols that he'd always kept in working order just in case "them hippies and commies and A-rabs takes over and it's every man for himself." He was a stupid, ornery, dangerous bastard, and the rest of accounting took their lead from him.
We had the advantage though, that we knew all the hidden ways around the building. I bridged the contacts of the alarm bell with a strand of wire stripped out of a phone, and we started the long hike up the emergency stairwell. We crept up the echoey, bare concrete passage, making sure that the doors of each floor above us were wedged shut to prevent ambush.
We could hear howling coming from the eighth floor, a mad feral screaming that made our flesh crawl. Accounting. I might have lost my nerve and turned back, except the thought of that coffee machine on the ninth floor kept me moving. We held our breath and tiptoed up past.
On nine, it was like a different world. The lights were off, and what little sunlight leaked through the steel shutters cast weird, jagged stripes of brilliance over dusty potted plants and desks. Apart from a smashed-in computer monitor and scattered papers littering the floor, there was little sign of violence. It was almost as if management had planned for the end, anticipated the sudden collapse, and left just before it all hit the fan, orderly and stealthy.
There was a low electrical hum coming from a door off to the right, and a faint green glow spilled out into the hallway. We crept forward, and I reached through the door to grope for a light switch.
The fluorescents flickered doubtfully to life, and we were dumbstruck by the sight that greeted us. The little executive kitchen was in perfect order, everything neatly lined up and tidy. On the counter beside the fridge there was indeed a top-end Italian espresso machine, plumbed directly to the water supply, its yellow-green LCD display calmly and patiently announcing that it was READY. This little room would be reasonably easy for us to defend, unless old Wild Tim and his pistols showed up, but it didn't look like we were going to get the chance.
Perched on the counter, legs swinging, skirt hem way up above the knee, was an absolutely stunning redhead - there was no way she'd ever pass for tech support, and she was probably too hot even for HR. She was idly glancing at the nails of one hand, while the other kept a little Beretta .22 aimed at the doorway - in other words, at us.
I cursed and jumped back into the hallway, out of the line of fire, breathing hard.
"Oh, don't be so jumpy, boys, I've been expecting you," the woman announced. Her voice was dripping with honey. Or maybe it was detached amusement, I was having a hard time telling. "You're tech support, so come on back in and give me a hand. I'm not gonna hurt you."
I peered around the doorframe, and she rolled her eyes at me, making an exaggerated show of putting the pistol down on the counter beside her thigh. She clicked a fingernail on the espresso machine.
"This things got a screw loose somewhere. Doesn't do a damn thing when I try for a cup." Maybe one of you clever tech guys can get it going again."
Eben was backing up. "Sorry, lady, we didn't sign on for this, we're just here to take the unit and brew up the shots for the clan. Unless you have the beans, we're not doing any deals. Especially not with any stranger."
I was still staring at the redhead. She had curves that made me think less about coffee and more about firm, slowly yielding flesh pressed against mine, between flannel sheets, with rain beating down on the deck and the roof in staccato counterpoint to a duet of moans. She cocked an eyebrow at me. "What about you, big boy? Looks like your buddy's not too happy with what he sees. Maybe he just doesn't know how to treat a... delicate apparatus."
I grinned at her and Eben slapped his palm to his forehead. "Cal, we don't even know who this broad is. We're not supposed to be making any deals without Macy's OK!"
I wasn't listening. I'd already decided that no one would object to me actually fixing the damn machine, regardless of pistols and strange women. After all, it wouldn't do us any good broken. I used my Swiss Army Knife to get the backplate off the machine and started poking around inside. Not only was it a good place to start my inspection, but the woman hadn't moved at my approach, and I could catch an exceptional view of her cleavage in my far peripheral vision.
The woman flexed her thighs and extended her legs straight out from the counter, tapping her heels back on the cupboard beneath. "I suppose I should introduce myself then. Lucretia Mitchell... accounting."
I jumped involuntarily and hit my head on the cupboard over the counter, and then tried to cover my shock. "Fuck! I mean... looks like there's some corrosion on the water intake, it's just gunked up the dispersion screen. Those dumbfuck analysts have been running this thing on hard water."
Lucretia laughed again, and I found my heart beating irregularly at the muscial peal. Eben had picked up his bat again and retreated back into the hall, blistering the air in his wake with obscenity.
It was only a moment's work to clean off the dispersion screen and have the machine back together, even with Lucretia's nails gliding slowly down my back and her breath hot in my ear.
"You're on your fuckin' own, dude," I heard Eben say. "You're out on your ass for this, you traitor. She's in accounting, and I'm headed for backup. Last chance, bro."
I didn't look up. Lucretia was squirming one hand down the front of my pants, and with the other she was putting two demitasse cups on the drip tray of the machine. "I'll hold down the fort up here man, don't wait up."
I heard him stomp angrily off down the corridor, smashing desktops in frustration, but I never saw how she signalled to the rest of her crew that the hunt was on; it wasn't even until much later that I even guessed she'd been responsible.
I was too busy grinding my hips against her clever hands, practically crushing her elegant fingers between the counter and my cock. It had been so long since I'd even thought about sex that I wouldn't even have cared if the coffee machine didn't power up and begin its cycle.
Lucretia pulled away just enough to tap the buttons on the machine's front panel, and then as steam began to curl up from the boiler she slid from her perch on the counter and we tumbled to the floor.
The espresso was a perfect shot, finished in 30 seconds of brew time. I took a little longer, but my shot was just as exquisite. Lucretia crawled over to the counch and sprawled out on it, nude and lazy and perfect, and she tipped her head back and laughed when I brought her one of the cups of obsidian magic.
She watched me as I raised the cup to my lips, and I was so lost in her gaze that I didn't even hear the goons from accounting sneak into the kitchenette behind me, until the millisecond before they grabbed me in an iron grip and clamped a dripping, acrid-smelling rag over my nose and mouth. In the moments before I passed out, Lucretia shrugged on her dress, kissed her fingertip, and touched it puckishly to my nose. "So long, techboy, it was fun. Maybe I'll come visit you in the holding pen one day... we can chat over coffee." Then she laughed again and was gone.
User Reviews
Submitted by Alter (user info) at 2007-09-26 20:26:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No, Comment.
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2007-01-31 07:41:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Okay, that was just hilarious. And clever. It's a post-apocalyptic warzone with staplers and subtle overtones of Adam's fall from Eden.... Well done. You rock so hard.
Submitted by swimmingbirdblue (user info) at 2007-01-29 22:06:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Splendid. More.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-01-29 20:13:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-01-29 15:58:27 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-01-29 14:55:02 (#)
Ranking: 0
I DEMAND A REMATCH.
--
Jesus Christ, what a sad old man he has become.
What the fuck is Jack blabbering about now? I'm the happiest person I know.
Probably because I have lots of cash.
Submitted by i_can_get_you_a_toe (user info) at 2007-01-29 16:32:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
ALCOHOL makes an ideal substitute for happiness.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-01-29 16:27:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't know what's going on, but I like it.
You live in an odd world. If I bring a passport will you stamp it and let me in?
Submitted by Coyote (user info) at 2007-01-29 16:09:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Smell the random.
In the first draft, the characters were going to be 19th century Natucket Quaker whalers.
Next round I'll try to do more romance.
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2007-01-29 15:59:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-01-29 15:58:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-01-29 14:55:02 (#)
Ranking: 0
I DEMAND A REMATCH.
--
Jesus Christ, what a sad old man he has become.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-01-29 14:55:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I DEMAND A REMATCH.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2007-01-29 14:40:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Awesome.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-01-29 14:31:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm so happy you joined the comp.
I'm so happy at how much this post made me laugh. And also want coffee.
Submitted by TigerLilly (user info) at 2007-01-29 13:05:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Long and well worth it.
Submitted by goferforhire (user info) at 2007-01-29 12:19:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This is strangely mystical. But mostly just awesome.
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2007-01-29 12:14:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Too much caffeine.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2007-01-29 12:12:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Konerak (user info) at 2007-01-29 12:12:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment