Even If By Proxy

“Even if by proxy,” Che’Kaan had said, smugly. I generally didn’t mess with Walgandrians. While marginally human in appearance, their odd games of brinksmanship were truly baffling. In their dealings with other species they were willing to overlook significant cultural mix-ups; yet with one another, the slightest gesture held such vast undertones that getting mixed in any dispute between them was something only a desperate creature would attempt.

I wasn’t desperate, but I certainly couldn’t claim any great Walgandrian insight. I knew the prominence of their cheeks came from cartilage and muscle humans didn’t have. I knew it took them years to cultivate a relationship with one another before they were socially comfortable with eye contact. I knew that Che’Kaan had some longstanding disagreement with a certain Gorja Divin and I was to deliver a message, gesture, and pièce de resistance all in one. And perhaps most importantly, I knew that if you took a job from one in regards to another, you did everything exactly as you were told.

This particular errand didn’t seem too bad. Get into the Dar’Mehn Office Tower. Use the Red Tie Elevator to get to the Ulyrex Suite offices on the forty-eighth floor. Leave the package exactly as described. Go home, get paid, pay off the credit voucher. Use what’s left to restock the fridge and maybe get a Happy Stick. Simple.

The Dar’Mehn Tower is open to the public if one is interested in the lobby's over-priced café. The Red Tie Elevator, located on a mezzanine overlooking the main lobby, opens to those with the proper credentials. I checked my reflection in the mirrored glass next to the revolving door. My hair was haphazardly parted, brown with a hint of sun bleached highlights. While my attire was professional, it wasn’t the sort of suit an executive would wear, and certainly didn’t include a red tie. The people who worked here I assumed were at least visually familiar with one another; my idea for getting in was not to emulate someone who belonged there, rather, it was to pretend to be someone who had been summoned for a temporary purpose. A repairman, perhaps. I’d make it up as I went along. I lightly fingered the small case I had attached to my belt next to my Aide and put on an uncomplicated half-smile.

I had about fifty strides to cross the main lobby and reach the half set of steps. In that time I looked for clues about what sort of persona I could adopt. Nothing sprang immediately to mind. There was nothing visibly wrong with the lobby; the lighting was perfectly ambient, the data kiosks were devoid of any refresh flickers, the airflow was conveniently personalized based on a Bioscan in my immediate area…whatever I came up with, it wouldn’t be a technician, that was clear.

From the foot of the faux marble stairs I saw a woman reading a data tablet in one of the two plush red armchairs facing the bank of six elevators. The Red Tie Elevator was second from the left, directly in front of the empty chair. It was immediately apparent this woman was a guard. Nobody casually reads anything at all in front of an elevator. I felt much better about my decision not to pretend I worked here; any security personnel would know who belongs here and who doesn’t if they were competent in their trade. Behind her ear, just visible under her short cropped dark red hair, was the gleam of a data implant, most likely containing a list of employees, appointments, schedules, and approved visitors. The woman was in remarkable shape, I could tell that from the well-tailored business clothing. The green-hued slacks and blouse fit closely but not suggestively; however, it was obvious from the lithe manner in which she rose from the chair to intercept me that her attire did not restrict her movement in any way. Her face was angular, with a triangular chin and thin, small mouth. Her skin color had a tanned blue tint that one associates with humans that call the Lananka System home. But the tan itself suggested she had not been there in a long time, since it lightened the blue tint towards a light purple, almost. Her eyes were an iridescent green brought out by her outfit. I was sure that her attractive, well-groomed appearance was meant to throw people off guard and automatically underestimate her. From my experience, though, her poise and ease in rising from her chair and swiftly moving to intercept me denoted a long familiarity with any of a number of trained fighting styles. Her eyes locked with mine with a bored but wary look of detachment as I made the mezzanine landing, and agonizingly, I knew I’d have to come up with something now.

“Um. Hello!” Was the best ‘innocent guy’ phrase I could come up with as I broke eye contact and angled toward the Red Tie Elevator. I made it two steps before she was smoothly in front of me, her arms loosely at her sides. Absolutely at ease with combat, then. Fair enough, I thought.

“My apologies, but I don’t believe you are authorized to use these elevators. They are for employees only.” Her voice was soft, mid-range with a hint of brittleness underneath the incredibly competent tone. Her speech was also completely devoid of any accent, a hall-mark of those employed by a multi-species corporation. I decided to go for uninformed bluster. I am of average height, but well-built and well-muscled. I did a quick inventory of the sort of person she would expect someone who looks like me to be, compared that to the sorts of people she likely encounters on a daily basis, and contrasted that with her expectations of how I would react to her. Much as it pained me to do so, I figured the best course of action would be to go for confident alpha male, flirtatious but with somewhere else to be.

“Well if I weren’t authorized to use these elevators, then my only other reason to be here would be to talk to you. I’m honestly just as happy with either outcome! I’m Chad Durrell,” I said brightly, extending my hand. I always used the Chad identity for this type of character. My Aide, coded to respond to ‘outcome…Chad Durrell’ had switched my ID docs over like a revolver chamber, replacing the former ‘Chago Rills’ completely and untraceably. Depending on how this conversation went, a few more coded phrases would round Chad out with an occupation, address, and contact information good enough for a cursory inspection.

She allowed my hand to linger just long enough to let me know she thought I was an ass before she shook it in convention with social protocol. Her hand was warm, and her grip let me know she could throw me across the lobby if she wanted. “Kyra. I seriously doubt you are here just to talk to me, Mr. Durrell, and if you really are, you're quite optimistic about what you see in the mirror. You are hardly the first to try some sort of lame and ridiculous come-on.”

Before she proceeded with the inevitable ‘now what are you really here for” I had to interrupt her, keep her talking a little more. I was working on an angle I could use but I had to have something more to work with.

“Ms. Kyra, I don’t doubt I am not the first. I imagine you don’t need optimism when you see your own mirror.” Her eyes widened in annoyance; I pressed on. “But I'll bet I’m one of few to compliment you who is actually single, of the same species, and at least within a tolerable weight class. Sure, I didn’t come here just to talk to you. Didn’t even know you existed. But now that I am here, and we are talking, I would suggest my work can wait for just a bit.”

Kyra’s eyes flashed with blue for a second as her prominent, knifelike blue nose reflected into them. Her eyes narrowed at me and I could see a conscious decision to restrain herself from breaking my face, for now. Was she interested in me? Not at all. But I had made this a personal conversation, giving me time to gather more information and delaying her inevitable inquiry into why I was here. I plunged forward.

“Kyra I can recognize a professional when I see one. I am fully aware that you can tear my arm off and beat me to death with it if you wanted. I also know you are sick to death with every man who passes through this landing looking at you solely as an attractive plaything.” And there it was. Something in the set of her jaw and eyes changed very subtly, telling me my theory had paid off. I was right, and I could absolutely use this as leverage. “I won’t lie, I think you are hands down the most gorgeous woman I’ve seen this week. Month, even. And while I don’t know who you are, or anything about you, I find myself on this landing with you and I am going to try to at least see if I can talk with you. I don’t think it’s false confidence to suggest I’m a better candidate for a night out than anybody you’ve seen outside these elevators in a long time. And, I’m more polite, and absolutely honest about my intentions. I don’t have a wife that I compare you to, or a history of lurid comments and leering glances over a fat belly. I’ll bet there are any number of ‘authorized employees’ that pale in comparison to me.”

To be fair, I am male, and she was incredibly pretty. Even while knowing I was weaving an incredible web of horseshit, I couldn’t help hoping she’d find it convincing, think I was a good catch, and ask me out later. Well. I could dream, anyway.

“I can appreciate your honesty, Chad,” she began in a soft voice that dripped with derision, “But if you think that just because you’re honest you are somehow better than Mr. Lorizo, or Mr. Galifan, or any other of the gross married or even the single bastards who pass through here, you have severely overestimated your charm.” Bingo. I was not going to like the ensuing conversation, but I had a name and some dirt. “What makes you think I care what you think about me? Do all of you think I show up to work every day on the hunt for someone to spend time with later? Is that how you live? Work? Do you even know what the word ‘professional’ means? I’m don’t have…”

“Excuse me, did you just say ‘Mr. Galifan?’”

“Yes, why?” Kyra snapped.

“Ah. Well, it so happens that he is the reason for my work. I’m a courier for Kirkdyne Lawfirms.” With the code phrase ‘work, courier, Kirkdyne’ my Aide obediently filled in the blanks on ‘Chad’s’ ID. Unless she were to actually contact Kirkdyne (which did in fact exist), my cover was flawless. And Kyra was smiling, which I took to be a good sign. It was a slightly predatory, ‘Oh really?’ sort of smile that one gives when one believes something unpleasant is going to happen to someone disliked.

“So it made it through? She made up her mind?” Kyra asked, excited but maintaining professional decorum. I played a hunch and ran with it.

“You mean Mrs. Galifan? I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, I’m sorry.”

“Ha! Well I’m not at liberty to let just anybody on to the elevators, either. And my statement is already on file, I gave it to her personally.”

This was one of those situations in which words could save you, or utterly destroy you. I knew she could give me the name of someone who could reasonably be believed to receive a summons for divorce. I did not know that she was an integral part of those proceedings. If she asked the wrong questions, such as the first name of any of the two Galifans, I would be caught red-handed.

“Alright Ms…er…”

“Valerite. Kyra Valerite.”

“Very well. Ms. Valerite, I will admit that I am only a courier and not party to the details of the proceedings. I am here on behalf of Mrs. Galifan to serve a summons, no more, no less. He has not responded to our office in any form, so it must be done personally.” I allowed myself a slight eye roll. “Not at all uncommon for this sort of thing.”

“No, I’d guess not. I’ll need to see your ID, Mr. Durrell, and the summons. I assume that is what is in the pouch?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, handing her my Aide and unlocking it, “However I cannot show you the summons. Opening the case in the presence of any witness other than Mr. Galifan would invalidate its contents. Furthermore, even if I could open the case for you, you are not privy to the personal information involved. I am ever so sorry.” Pure, unadulterated horseshit, but it sounded pretty good, I thought.

“OK,” she said in a slightly irritated tone, handing back my Aide. “Do what you have to do. I’ve unlocked the elevators.”

I did something colossally stupid as I turned towards the Red Tie Elevator. I kept talking. “Now I know that you don’t think this is work appropriate, but this is the only place I’ve seen you, and probably the only place I’m ever likely to get a chance to make any sort of impression, good or bad. So I’m just going to say, in my defense, that I saw a chance, and I took it. I don’t think that’s the same as harassing you every day just because I work here and you do to, like the employees here. If I didn’t talk to you, how would I know if had a shot? At some point, a stranger is going to talk to you,” I said, pressing the button for the Red Tie Elevator, “Because that’s the only way they cross the line from ‘stranger’ to ‘acquaintance.’ In my defense, that’s all I’ve done.” The elevator opened and I stepped in swiftly, still talking. “So when I come back down, can we continue this conversation?”

Kyra looked astounded, then confused, and as the elevator doors closed said, “Wait, it’s the Blue Tie Elevator!” And I knew she would say that. Maybe not the Blue one, but any color other than the one I was on. I pressed for the forty-eighth floor and the elevator drifted smoothly upward. I congratulated myself for keeping her distracted long enough to get on the ‘wrong’ elevator, then realized with horror that she hadn’t said “no” and that I would have to talk to her again. The small creature in the case on my waist stirred a little, indicating the sedative was wearing off. I thought about its unhappy fate for about thirty floors, and spent the next fifteen wondering just what the cultural implications of what I was going to do actually were. Walgandrian psychology was alien to me in every sense of the word.

The last three floors I spent reviewing the plan in my head. According to Che’Kaan, Gorja would be out of his office for lunch for exactly one hour. That left me with fifty minutes from the point the elevator doors opened to arrange and place the message exactly as specified. The timing could not be late, obviously, but it could not be rushed, either.

The elevators began a skewed ascent away from one another starting at the third floor, necessitating the use of completely different elevators for the six different sides of Dar’Mehn Tower. I found myself musing how I would explain to Kyra being gone so long on the wrong elevator on the wrong side of the building as the doors opened onto the forty-eighth floor. I made my way down a short corridor to the appropriate doorway.

The office was nicely furnished, and clearly belonged to someone who commanded an upper echelon place in the middle management tier. The work chair was of genuine synthetic leather, not plasti-lether, the desk was some type of wood analogue, and you could see a part of the park from the window instead of just the next building over. And as promised, there was the shelf on the wall, and the picture of what I assumed was Gorja’s wife. Spouse-thing. The word didn’t translate well. Luckily there were no other pictures of any other being, so I couldn’t screw that up. I had a lot of difficulty telling the difference between male, female, and the intermediate gender of the Walgandrian species. If Gorja had displayed pictures of his children, too, this could have been tricky.

I thumbed the button on the case, and heard a soft, brief hiss. I waited for exactly thirty seconds and opened it up, removing it from the belt fastener. Inside was a Loogrian Hamster. Small, a bit like a lizard with short fur and no tail, it was compliant and offered no resistance as I pulled it out of the case and removed the hard-cloth pouch it had sat on all this time. My instructions called for it to be awake but anesthetized for a critical and exact period of time. Since the sedative had worn off, the awake part was covered. I had just administered the anesthetic, so I got to work opening the pouch and removing tiny bits of colored string. I tied its front feet together with green string, its rear feet with blue, and then joined the bound limbs with a red string so as to gently suspend them behind the creature’s back. A purple string had to be tied elaborately to pull the creatures head back and secure it to the back legs. Finally, a delicate cradle was made from white thread to hold and suspend the hamster just in front of the picture of Gorja’s wife-thing. The string was tiny and the knots had to be tied very specifically. As it was, I managed the whole thing with only three minutes to spare.

I attempted to place the case back on the belt fastener, but it fell and skipped under the desk. I went to retrieve it and when I had done so, rose back up to hear a pair of voices coming down the hall. My time was up! Even as I made the doorway, Gorja walked in, followed by a human co-worker. At that moment, the Loogrian Hamster began to scream, a thin, reedy sound made spookier by the instant color change of Gorja’s skin, from dark grey to an off-white. His snout-mouth puckered into an expression of horror as his tiny black eyes widened to three times their size. The human behind him looked at me in confusion, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his wide nose and scratching his balding head. Gorja’s four opposable fingers waved about in agitation, and his fat, truncated body moved back and forth in little circles.

“He did it. That bastard did it,” he sputtered, barely audible over the still screaming hamster. The man behind him looked even more confused.

“Sir…should I…Uh…Is there something I can do?” The balding man clutched his hands in uncertainty.

“Leave us.” Gorja turned to me. “You are the proxy, then?”

I watched the other man leave and nodded, wondering if I had somehow ruined the ritual or whatever it was by getting caught. The damned hamster was still screaming as he made his way over to it.

“Bring out your Aide. I wish for you to record a message to Che’Kaan. He will doubtless reward you handsomely for it. Are you ready?”

I obediently pulled it out and aimed it to record, nodding that it was ready. I did not want to speak for fear of tarnishing whatever was about to happen. Gorja slowly and deliberately took the picture of his spouse-thing in his left hand. With his right, he crossed three of his fingers and bent the fourth, then wiggled it at the Aide, and again at the picture, before dashing the picture to the floor and exclaiming “BAH!” He then took the hamster and without hesitation pushed it into his mouth and swallowed as it continued screaming. He stared directly at the camera for a full minute, then fell onto the floor, directly at my feet. I stopped the recording. I was pretty sure he was dead, but I was not going to check. I left quickly, making eye contact with no-one on my way to the elevator.

I rode down in silence and cannot remember thinking anything in particular. The door opened, and Kyra regarded me for a split second before punching me in the stomach at nearly the speed of light. I gasped, doubled over, and waited for another blow.

“I have no idea what you were doing, but an actual courier came fifteen minutes ago, on the same errand. And she went in the proper elevator, too! You have one sentence to tell me what the hell you were doing before I knock you unconscious and have you put in Holding!”

One sentence? Sure, why not? “Walgandrian feud by proxy,” I bit out, trying regain my breath.

Kyra took a step back, allowed me to straighten up and exit the elevator. “Oh. Wow. Gorja?”

“Ya. Got the end bit here on my Aide. Pretty sure he killed himself.” I made my way to the plush red chair opposite the elevator and collapsed into it. “Holding isn’t likely to mess with it, but I guess you have to call them over anyway. I’d prefer if my client gave them the final recording and not me, though.”

“Sure, ok. Just get out of here, then. I don’t want any part of it.”

“Thanks. Um…how about that conversation? Could we…”

Kyra smiled and shook her head. “I’d never consider anyone named Chad. It’s bad luck. Plus I’m pretty sure that isn’t your name, so we haven’t even talked yet. You’re still a stranger, pal. And I’m still at work.” She offered me a hand to get up and indicated the half stairway with an open palm. I took it, smiled at her, and left. No sense pushing my luck.

And after all, strangers meet all the time.