The Pre-Interview (Short Story)

This story has kind of evolved in such a way that it is becoming much bigger than originally intended, but that's just the way things go sometimes.

Here's A Link To The Previous Story.

Source

       "You can join us in our transport ship," the speaker said, ending their sentence with a smile.
       Now up close, Jareth could see that he wore fitted black clothing; uniform, and with no discernable features or stand-out flares. The outfit was neat and looked exactly like the clothes the others were wearing, they all matched and fitted together, showing that they were all a part of the same organisation.
       "Thanks," was the only word Jareth could muster as a response.
       After speaking he walked to the speeder, past the two who arrived in it, who stepped aside to let him in. The seats in the back of the vehicle were comfortable. Fabric covers, which were usually not used in transports because they could sometimes get dirty and smell, which was hard to get rid of, but this vehicle seemed brand new; he wouldn't have been surprised if they didn't pick these up from a lot on their way to this meet up. Behind Jareth one of the other people from the circle joined him in the back of the transport, and soon after he entered, the other two got in and started the engine.

       The journey was quiet for the most part. The speaker didn't make any effort to start a conversation, or ask them any questions and the other person was silent too. Sitting beside him, the vagrant seemed to be more interested in looking out at the passing buildings and flashing lights, than he did about asking about where they were going. Maybe they already knew, maybe everyone there did, but Jareth did not and he only realised now that he had no idea what he was doing here.
       He heard stories about who could be pursueded by simple words of a charasmatic person; had that happened to him? What made him trust this group? What made him find himself in the back seat of a transporter heading to who knows where? What was he running from?
       "You seem troubled," the speaker stated calmly, without turning around.
       Jareth stared at the back of the man's head, and wondered how he knew that. Was he in tune with some higher frequency, or was it a lucky guess?
       "How did you know that?" Jareth asked.
       "I can see it written on your face. Our faces give away more information than any words could, that and body language, these are all things that talk without speaking." The speaker adjusted a mirror, which glinted some reflected light in Jareth's eyes, causing him to squint.
       "Makes sense," Jareth said, turning away and trying to carefully relieve the tension in his body, forcing himself to relax and sit comfortably. "I guess, I'm a bit confused. I just realised that I have no idea where we're going, who you are, or why I chose to join that congregation back there."
       "You joined because you knew it was what you needed to do. Tell me, what do you know about crime syndicates?" The speaker asked, and Jareth could only shrug.

       "I know that crime pays," he replied, but he figured after a few moments of silence that the answer he gave wasn't good enough. He let out a small cough, "What do you mean by crime syndicates? Like the gangs around Jex, The High Flyers, The Underworlders?"
       The speaker shook his head and seemed to be holding back some laughter. "No, I'm not talking about street gangs, scratching a living in any way they can, they're no syndicates, regardless of how much money they might make pushing chems." He turned around once he finished, resting an arm on the back of his seat. "Have you heard of The Demenes?"
       Jareth tried to place the name, but couldn't. "No," he said while shaking his head slightly and maintaining eye contact with the speaker.
       "No many have. The Demenes is an old organisation, very old. They started long before the war, and their wealth was used in many ways to rebuild after it. They are no more now because they outlived their old way and became many smaller things, I could run you through the list of corporations that are little more than tendrils of that old organisiton, who can thank The Demenes for their existence." The speaker spoke quietly, savoring most of his own words, and he was slow, weaving through the words of each sentence like a dancer. "Many people here today owe their livelihoods to some long-forgotten crime syndicate, it's funny really, especially since there are so many out there trying to stamp crime out, and many more who start small gangs, fighting over a spit of waste ground, rather than seeing the bigger picture and evolving to a higher state."
       Jareth knew the speaker was a part of that group, but didn't know how to respond. "So, is this? Are you?" The speaker stared patiently, waiting for Jareth to get his words out. "Are we being recruited or something? Is this some crime syndicate?"
       "No, you're not being recruited, you are on your way to your interview." The speaker replied, turning away from Jareth and back to his original resting position.

       Joining a crime syndicate wasn't exactly on his to-do list, but it couldn't hurt to see what it was like and if it led to a better life, he couldn't exactly refuse the offer.