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Some joker from the "Office" has called up and wants me to go to Security, on the 10th Floor - there's someone up there, in lockup, he thinks I should see. Didn't say too much more about it. All I have on my screen is... "Security ...on 10 ...Take the lift ...Guy up there... ...name of Larry, knows what's what..." Now that I think about it, he seemed a bit ...terse, about the whole deal. Like, he would go to fill me in, and then think better of it. Maybe it's a setup, or a gag. I don't even know the guy, but someone could've put him up to it. Or, just trying to palm his work off onto me. What the hey. I could use a break. Never been on the 10th Floor, actually ...Been on the 9th. [Oh, ...that's good. Did I really say that?! Face facts. You need a life, is what...] _____________________________ I continue in this vein, talking back to myself, and head off to get the keys. The elevator keys for the 9th and 10th floor are hanging in a rack downstairs, in two pieces, barrel and handle. This makes it almost impossible to use the key, without the handle. That's reasonable, I guess. Even so, I detect an undercurrent of bureaucracy in the slightly "...Please, do it our way..." mentality. For example, Security occupies the 9th and 10th floors, so both keys have to be signed out together. They must never be allowed to get separated. But ...why? So no-one can say... "...I didn't go to 10, I went to 9. ...Must've been someone else who went to 10..."...? Is that it? And the handles are identical, but they're still labelled 9 ..and ...10. You see, now, that doesn't help. But, you can almost see the pieces of hell breaking loose if I decided to swap 'em over. I sign the keys out, and screw the two pieces together - barrel and handle - for the 10th floor. And that's possibly the most exciting thing I will do today. Terrific, my day is ruined! I mean, what's coming along to compete with that!! Something, even more ..."spy level"? I think not. OH NO! ...I just realized. ...Don't tell me! ...the keys.. That's why ...they're like that?!! So that a pack of sorry losers can be shuffling papers across their desk one minute, ...and the next ...KAZAM..!! ...it's suddenly, "Hey, my life ...is ...unREAL!!..." " ...Yep, we're 'undercover', baby! You probably wouldn't know it from just looking at me... [well, ...no ...we wouldn't...] " ...but, this whole ...Acting Head of Inter-Office Memo Supplies ...'thing' ...I got going, is just a very, very clever ruse ...It's supposed to be convincing. It HAS to be, I wouldn't be doing my job otherwise.... [...but, you don't do your job NOW...!] " ...It's ...people's LIVES ...were talking about... [...that's not strictly true, is it...] " ...Hey, I bet you can't guess what I've got in my pocket. Wait ...Sue!! Sue?!! Yeah, not that. ...But [furtive] ..in my pocket ...are some ...keys.. ...that I had to screw together!!... [...the chopper's coming down ...get outa there..!!] " ...I wish I could tell you about it, but it's on a, (heh, heh) you know, .. 'When I feel a need to tell you'... basis... [..well ...OK, I'll pay that one...] " ...But ..right now, [holds watch to ear] Damn things stopped! ...err ...If you'll excuse me ...I'm off ...to keep tabs on my 'long-time arch-nemesis', small-time hood, and criminal mastermind... His name?? ...err Mulroney. Yeeesss, "Pliers" Mulroney!! ...Pliers ..."Copperhead" Maloney... Huh?...yea ...Mulroney, ... whad'd I say..?... [...Neexxxtt...!!.. " ...Say, are you going to be here in about ...half an hour? I could tell you some more about it then..." Perfect. ___________________________ We're moving ....going ...up ...up ...7 ...8 ...9 Actually, elevators sure are boring. Say what you like about keys... But, even if travelling two floors with strangers can seem an eternity, everyone still knows it's not long enough to get to know anyone. That's why no-one bothers to start a conversation - even though it exceeds the 15 second time limit on awkward silence. "...Hi, I'm John, from Accounts. I just killed a man, and I'm planning to carry out Dr Frankenstein experiments on him at home" "Really?!! ..Do go on...!!.." [Ding!!...] "...Oh, ..this is my floor ... Well, 'nother time" "Yeeaaah ...sure..." And, if you see the same, gorgeous woman every day for 15 seconds in the elevator, is it true that after a year, you've really known her for more than an hour and a half? No. It's still just 15 seconds! The same 15 seconds, over ...and over. Still, I guess it would be a lot creepier the other way, if social norms demanded such encounters.... "...Sooooo ...John, what's that like... exactly...? Experimenting on corpses. It sounds so clandestine!! Do the relatives ever cramp your style? Or do you pretty much have artistic control over the project...??" "...I let 'em think they're in control. Then, I just do what I was gonna do, anyway..." "...Oh ...Well, hey, you ...you've gotta do what you think is 'working', ..without, you know, compromising... err your ...(cough) integrity..." "...What...?!..." [recovering] "...Besides, they probably wouldn't know the 'sheets from the shovel', if it came down to it. No, you're doing the right thing, mate ...Good for you..." "...Listen ...I'm a criminal. I murder people ...and I don't tell the relatives anything..." [pause] "...Uh, huh... ...Sooooo ...have you ever nearly come right out, and just... told them.... ...because, you know, it's such a ...big secret, and you couldn't stand being the only one who knew...??..." "...No ...Never ...You're an idiot ..." [...and so forth] _____________________________ The little "10" lights up, there's the "Ding!" sound, and the doors open, at the 10th Floor. I make a turn out of the lift - the wrong turn, I am guessing - because I wind up at the end of the building, and no sign of Security. Not lost, in any interesting sense of "new horizons". Just that vague feeling of ineptitude - over something that really didn't matter ...until you drew attention to it ...by stuffing it up! [I'm sorry ...didn't we explain? You can't be getting ...lost..!! ...No, we just have three rules... Don't break anything... Don't forget anything... And don't get LOST!!!] Well, all one can do now is proclaim some self evident truth, such as, "...Oh, I must have gone the wrong way... I will turning around and trying now anuvver way..." [You ...are a disgrace...!! ...Here are your scores...] Game: Over Mission Status: Shambles...!! Reason: ...You Were Killed!! Right. Shot in the back by Pliers 'Cephalopod' Mulhoon. Rank Achieved: Bonehead! Hits Received: error #### buffer overrun Recommended Action: Permission granted for ...marsupials to Gnaw Head!! Alright. Settle down. All you have to do, in a case like this, is just ...move quickly enough ...to set everything right, and 'catch up' with 'the other you' - the 'virtual you' that didn't stuff up. Your 'other you' is the imaginary version, of 'you', that carries on ...into the future, while 'you', the 'real you', is left behind ...to clean up the mess. So, now there is a 'gap' between the 'two you's', and unless you move ...double speed, the gap will soon be big enough for everyone to see. And they'll say stuff like, "...Hey, you're late!!..." Meaning, simply, "...your 'other you' came by earlier, but 'you' weren't with him..." But, how far would my 'other me' have got by now? Would 'I' have made it to Larry's office yet? Well, possibly. But, Larry isn't expecting me at a particular time, so that doesn't matter. As long as I have 'caught up' with myself by the time I'm due back at my desk, should be good enough. Of course, there are caveats. For example, you can't look like you've been running ...the 'other me' wouldn't be panting, and sweating ...and dishevelled. Hmmm. That seems to throw the entire theory into question. Maybe there's always some clue - a 'tell' - to betray the fact that... 'you' ...are not the 'same' ...you. Of course, I have no idea if that is true, or not. [Uh Huh. I see. That's the plan, is it? Brother!!...We're in worse shape than I thought!! What was that? It was gibberish, but of a very, special kind... I tell you what.. You wanna hear my plan?!! Here's my plan!! "GET ...ON WITH IT...!!!" That would be a good start..! That's my plan... You like that plan???...] _____________________________ I finally arrive at Security (slightly dishevelled). A sticker on the wall says "SECURITY", but there were no signposts on the way - I more or less stumbled onto it. I haul the wire gate open. The guard jumps up, holding a camera with a multiple flash array, which he pops off right in my face, half scaring the crap out of me. (..and the 'other me', as well!!...) "...Whoa...!!" "...Ha! ...I took ya' picture..." "...You ...must be ...Larry..." He yanks the print from the camera, and looks at it a bit cock-eyed. "...Huh. ...Looks like the last guy must'a got the wrong one..." He palms it off on me. It's a picture of some loser, and a big dog. Sometime earlier, his camera output got out of sync. Presently, another photo slides out, to the unmistakable sound of 'error beeps'. "OK...here it is!" "Well, ...that's great, Larry. Hit me!..." He hands me the print. This one's a picture of me, all right, but wearing some ...getup - big plastic jacket, hair scooped up over the middle, like Phil Collins with a mohawk, ...and some crazy headband. Well, that's amusing ...but, you know...I dunno. I'm not strictly in need of forged documents, at present. Besides, as an ID, it would be more at home stapled to Larry's forehead. Perhaps I should go onto fancy medication. Would that solve everything? ...Anything with Meth, or Methyl, in the name is usually pretty good. "OK, ...Listen up, ...Larry? ..." Larry is fussing with the cable linking the camera to the filer. "...Am I getting through here, Larry?..." "...This thing's all screwed up..." [from under the filer] "...Yeah. ..I know ...Listen, Larry!... ...LARRY!!..." Larry pops his head up. "What...??" "I got a question..." "Oh. Sure. ...Fire away ...Chief..!!" I pause for effect, flicking the photos off in the direction of his 'desk', where one lands stylishly in a coffee spill. "Why ...am I here?" I venture. He gives me a 'look' - like I've asked him to do espionage. There's something going on, that's for sure. "Oh... Rightio. They just ...wanted ya' to see ...the ..little guy ...that's all..." "The...little guy? ...Sure, I'm with you. ...Larry, what the hell ...is 'the little guy'..?!!.." He stares into space for a moment. "...I ...prob'ly better show you ...be the best..." "...OK ... Listen to me, Larry. Is this a setup?" "...Sorry...?" "...A setup! It's Meyers, isn't it!" "...Meyers?..." "...Yeah. Meyers." "...Who's ...Meyers?" "...Who's Meyers!!? ...Gerry friggin' Meyers!!" I'd hoped the abrupt approach might elicit something I could read. But Larry's blank countenance told me that he hadn't the foggiest idea who Gerry Meyers was. Which was understandable. There is no Gerry Meyers, because I just made him up, to get the reaction. "...Gerry Meyers ...Doesn't he work in Services...?" "...No. ...He doesn't ...work ...at all, in Services... ...Look, just skip it, ...It's not important..." Larry is falling behind again. "So...!!", I add with some finality, to keep the agenda moving smartly in my favour, and waving a hand abstractly at the fullness of space, 'out there', beyond the cage. "...Shall we?..." Larry gazes longingly at the filer, then hauls himself upright, obviously no where near ready to actually venture outside his austere fortress of solitude. "...Yeah, ...orr-right, then. ...S'pose we ..umm prob'ly should ...really ...jet .." Larry finally has keys, and pagers, and pass cards, all assembled into a little pile, then friggs with the gate lock for about a minute and a half, before clumping off down the corridor, towards the other end of the building. There are no offices on this part of the floor, mainly storerooms, and some larger spaces, about an eighth-floor in area, all chain-linked off and subdivided into secure areas. In view of my earlier detour, I feel I could have saved some time here. The lighting is terrible, with piles of junk looming from every corner. We seem to be entering some kind of TwilightZone. Larry issues various updates over his shoulder. "...Mind your step up here ...bloody back reqs..." "...That used to be Dispatch, over there... 'fore they moved it down to 5..." "...Yeah, we ran outa fluoros ..but then, he don't like too much light..." "...Sure..." I offer, "...but what about us..?!" Presently, we come to a corner in the chainlink, forming an 'L' shape at the end of the floor. The few, small windows are blacked over. Larry opens the gate cautiously. "...Quick, go in! ...It's only one gate ....he'll get out!!" I step forward, peering into the gloom. Larry shuts the gate behind me. "...I'll be right out here...if you need me..." "...Hopefully, that ...won't ..be, ...well ...nevermind..." Putting the past resolutely behind me, I take a step, inside the fence, looking confident. Unfortunately, it's so dark that I really cannot see anything at all. The sound of pipes falling, and Larry cursing, startles me for a moment. I count to 15, the darkness pulsating in time with my heartbeat, until I'm pretty sure I can take at least one step, without falling into a greasy cardboard box full of old rusty possum traps. Dimly, I can make out a figure, over near the wall. Keeping the gate behind me, I turn, casually, halfway in that direction - to avoid giving the impression that I have only just spotted him. The truth is, I'm already using peripheral vision (looking directly just results in waves of black) and I still have no idea what I'm looking at. If I'd known it was going to be this dark - well, how would I have known that...? ...since nobody bothered mentioning it. When Larry said, "they wanted me to 'see' the little guy...", well there's me, taking it literally. I should have grilled him six ways from Sunday right then and there. Right after the words, "...little guy...". They'll probably want me to write up some report, and I'll have to put "...basically ....black ...darkness.." Whatever. The waves of black are starting to dissipate. I've been staring into the very darkest part of the room - probably an intentional strategy, under the circumstances - but now, a vague perspective opens up in front of me. I begin to get some impression of the shape, still huddled against the wall, a little further down the room. Whatever it is, it's quite short, standing upright, rather like an otter - about 3 1/2 feet in height, but too slender for its proportions to be that of a midget - and smooth skinned, with finely-boned, almost human-like features, and delicate curves to the skull and cheekbones. And, all over, a deep, uniform 'powder-blue' colour. It isn't human. I can establish that much. Could be a juvenile. In any case, I wouldn't hesitate to declare it Mammalian, at least. Not Reptile, Fish, ...Bird... But, there is a sense in which it is almost certainly...not an 'animal'. To say 'Mammal', in other words, knowing that 'humans' are mammals, does not convey quite the elevation of status I intended. No. I simply meant ... it is ..."Not an Animal". Not a beast, not a creature. Of it being, if not human, then, at least, in having, ...humanity. Intelligence, directed by awareness, and even, ...possessed of compassion. In the middle of that thought, I glimpsed something through the darkness, steady and unwavering, like points of light from the centre of two tiny imperishable jewels, and I realized with a shock that I was looking into his eyes - that they had, without my realizing, become suddenly visible.... And, that, behind that gaze - at the very bottom of those depths ...was the place ...where 'he' was actually dwelling... and I had found him ...staring back at me. _____________________________________ Then, as details slowly revealed in a developing photograph, the scene steadily fills, acquiring depth, ...dimension ...meaning The final picture - its subjects framed within the everyday circumstances in which they find themselves - of two individuals ...two minds, meeting ...for the first time. With no agendas, or pre-conceptions. As though they, too, were unexposed plates of photographic film. Staring silently into each other, and exchanging the ancient, unknowable, dialogue of interspecies eye contact, all my ...directives, ...concerns, and ...expectations ...slowly ...dissolve ..and ....slip away.
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