Office Preserves

by Galen Surlak-Ramsey

  The alien turns, notices Toby, and waves a friendly tentacle his way. Toby backtracks, not wanting to be anywhere near the space squid, and runs down the hall. After a few corners, he reaches the entrance to his office space. Toby plows through the double doors to the cubicle farm, and his flight grinds to a halt. Only the scantest of light illuminates the cubicles, making navigation difficult.

  “Anyone here?” Toby calls out.

  No one replies.

  Toby fumbles in the dark and gropes the wall, but for the life of his shins and toes, he can’t find a light switch. Several bruises and curses later, Toby manages to find a full-length window. He prays it happens to be his own. A feel to the right yields a door, and a turn of its knob lets him in.

  “Oh, thank god,” Toby says after finding and flicking the wall switch to his office.

  Toby slams the door shut and pushes the button embedded in the handle. A test of the knob shows that it’s locked, but the door isn’t as secure as he’d like. The entire mechanism feels flimsy, and after peeking through his office window to check for nearby psychotic secretaries, he darts back into the farm and brings back the first chair he can find in the darkness. Once he’s safe in his office, he wedges the chair under the door handle and collapses on the floor.

  Toby stares at the carpet. His vision blurs. His body wants nothing more than to rest for a week, aftereffects of all the drugs and adrenaline he’s sure. But his mind demands he stay awake, stay safe, and find a way home. “Think, think, think,” Toby says, massaging his temples. “There has to be a way out. There has to be.”

  A series of taps on glass, light and fast, draw his attention. Clarice stands outside, pressed against the window. Her watery eyes lock on to Toby long enough to convey an unspoken plea before they dart left and right, scrutinizing the darkness surrounding their meeting.

  Toby leaps to his feet. “Get away!”

  Clarice jumps back. Her hands come up, and she crouches low. “Please, Toby,” she says, her voice barely audible through the glass. “Let me in.”

  “I said get away!” Toby yells again. This time, however, he lunges forward and strikes the window with both palms.

  The glass bounces with a thud.

  Clarice crouches even lower, all but cowering now. Her hands shake like a heroin addict that missed her morning fix. “No, Toby,” she pleads. “You don’t understand. I’m not the one—”

  “Leave!” He hits the glass again, harder than before. “I don’t want anything to do with you, your escape, your—”

  “Okay, okay,” she interrupts. “I’m going. Stop yelling.”

  Toby nods, breaths deep, and keeps a wary eye on her.

  Clarice reaches down and does something near the door he can’t see. She then wipes her eyes and looks at him one last time before disappearing into the darkness.

  Toby spends another hour staring out the window, waiting for her to return. When she doesn’t, he creeps his way to his desk and sinks down into his leather chair. He’s not sure what he’s going to do, what he can do, but as he sits there and contemplates, there’s one thing he’s certain he will never do: sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Clarice huddles in a ball on the stairs between the fourth and fifth floor, sobbing quietly. She tried to save Toby. She tried to warn him. But it’s too late now. Maybe he’ll be okay. Maybe. But for now, she knows, she’s on her own.

  One of the doors above opens and she chokes off her tears. To her relief, the footsteps go up, not down, and then another door opens and she’s alone in the stairwell again.

  “Need to get back to our room, Clarice,” she says, her voice shaking as uncontrollably as her hands are. “Need to get back. Must get back before they come and find us here.”

  She grips the sides of her head and digs her nails into her scalp. “No, no, can’t do that,” she says. “Too many patrons this time. Not enough employees. They’ll still come for you. They’ll come to take you away. Think. Think. Think. Think.”

  She looks down at her abdomen and wishes she had the bump. “Must be special,” she whispers, rubbing her tummy. “Have to be. Have to look like it. Make them believe.”

  Then an idea hits her. It’s not perfect, and she doesn’t know if she can pull it off, but she’s beyond desperate.

  Clarice jumps up and races to the sixth floor. Once she reaches the exit door, she steadies herself.

  “Hello,” she says, practicing the lines she’s about to give. “I think we’re pregnant. Can I have a test?”

  It sounds good. She’s still a little shaky, but hopefully she can pass it off as excitement due to pregnancy. She tries her line a few more times, and each one feels stronger than the last.

  “We’re ready,” she tells herself. With that, she opens the door and boldly strolls forward.

  The sixth floor is much like the fourth and fifth, as it has a long, blue hall with grey carpet that forms a circle with doors leading to various offices on both sides. These offices, however, aren’t for workers. They’re for the aliens who work here, and for the most part, humans aren’t allowed here except for specific reasons. Everyone knows this. It’s part of the new employee briefing.

  The only place humans can go here on their own is either the infirmary or the maternity ward. The latter is precisely where she’s headed.

  She passes by a few aliens as she makes her way, all of which look like Freddie’s little brother or sister. One of them even looks like Freddie himself, and she stiffens at the sight of him. But it doesn’t take long for her to realize that he’s not the CEO of Preser Tech. He’s missing a few digits off his tail hand. To her relief, they all ignore her for the most part. Only one stops her and asks where she’s going, to which she promptly replies, “Maternity.”

  She enters the waiting area to the maternity ward and quietly sits down on one of the black plastic chairs. The room she’s in is small with harsh, white light and shiny white walls which cause her to squint no matter which direction she looks. She’s not sure what the rationale is behind such a lighting choice, but she suspects it has something to with the four corner-mounted cameras in the room. They want to see everything that happens here, and they want to see it well.

  Across the room is a glass window, some two inches thick. On the other side sits one of the resident alien nurses, for a lack of a better description, who is currently examining a vial of something held in one tentacle. After a few moments, the alien places the vial on a small rack, turns its six bug eyes toward Clarice, and slides the window open.

  “Hello dearie,” it says, talking out of its elongated, tube-like mouth. “Think today is finally the day?”

  Clarice stands, smiles, and walks over as calmly as she can. “I hope so.”

  “Well,” the alien says, reaching into a nearby drawer and pulling out a plastic cup with a lid on it. “You know what to do. Would you like some water?”

  “Water is good,” says Clarice. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  The nurse reaches down and pulls out a Styrofoam cup before handing them both to Clarice. She then pushes a button and one of two doors next to the window beeps and opens, revealing a small bathroom inside.

  Clarice enters without word. She fills her Styrofoam cup from the sink inside and drinks. The water has a slight metallic taste to it, but it’s cool and refreshing. When she’s done with that cup of water, she takes another, and a third, all the while shutting her eyes and trying quell her racing thoughts. She’s got to get this right.

  “You okay in there?” the alien calls out.

  “I’m okay,” Clarice replies. “I’m okay.”

  She drops her pants and sits on the toilet. The door remains open, which isn’t a surprise. One of the cameras in the other room has a direct shot at her, and she knows the alien nurse is watching, waiting for her to pee.

  But she doesn’t. She sits for a few more minutes, ignoring any and all urges to go. When she feels that she’s waited enough, Clarice gets up, pulls up her pa
nts and goes to the window.

  “Can’t seem to go,” she says. “Maybe if I walk a bit. Do some laps.”

  The alien shoos her toward the door. “Go on, dearie. Whatever you think will help.”

  Clarice goes for the door but is stopped when the nurse calls out once more. “Dearie,” she says. “You need to leave your cup here, sweetie.”

  Clarice curses under her breath and reluctantly hands the plastic cup back. “Sorry,” she says. “Forgot. Just excited, I guess.”

  “Course you are, dearie,” the nurse says. “Come back when you’re ready to go.”

  The window slides close and Clarice heads for the stairs. Though she’s down one cup, she still has another, the Styrofoam one. Maybe her plan will still work. It has to. Clarice heads up to the tenth floor, the apartment section of upper management and higher ups. Getting some urine from Lexi, Preser Tech’s newest mother-to-be, shouldn’t be any harder in a Styrofoam cup than a plastic one. The hard part Clarice knows, aside from talking Lexi into such a thing, is going to be getting the pee from one cup into the other without being caught.

  Clarice leaves the stairs and trots down the tenth floor hall. Everything about this place screams prestige. Golden wallpaper with a floral design hangs on the walls while rich, thick carpet sits on the floor, barely a week old and free of stain and scratch. The doors are heavy oak with silver knockers, and even the air smells crisp and spring-like.

  Clarice picks up the pace, afraid she might get caught. She thinks she remembers Lexi’s room number from the directory, and when she gets to room 1020, she hesitates at the knocker. Even if this one is right, Lexi will likely flip out over such a late-night awakening

  “Have to get a pink tag,” she whispers. “Have to. Must. Have to try this one.”

  No one answers, and Clarice knocks again, louder and longer this time. A moment later, she hears the muffled sounds of someone cursing from inside the apartment. Clarice bites down on one of her knuckles and waits.

  The door cracks open. Lexi peeks out, wrapped head to toe in a black comforter. She stares at Clarice with bloodshot eyes and says, “This better be important.”

  “Is important,” Clarice replies. “Very, in fact. Have to talk to you about something.”

  Lexi scratches her head and clears her eyes. A lock of brown hair falls in front of her face which she lazily brushes away. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

  “Clarice,” she replies. “Clarice. Freddie sent me,” she lies. “Was concerned about something. Wanted to make sure you were okay. That the baby was. Sent me, he did. Freddie, I mean. Can I come in?”

  “I can’t believe this can’t wait until morning,” she says, this time more irritated than tired. “I’m a board member. I don’t have to put up with this. Especially from someone like you.”

  Lexi tries to shut the door and Clarice jams her foot inside to keep it from closing all of the way. For a split second, the both of them look at each other with shock.

  “Sorry, but I—” Clarice starts, but the board member quickly cuts her off.

  Lexi’s eyes narrow. “I’m calling H.R.”

  Clarice feels the color drain from her face. “No, please.”

  “Too late.” Lexi spins around and goes back to her bedroom.

  Operating on equal parts instinct and desperation, Clarice barges in the room and sees Lexi about to pick up her phone. Unlike the ones everyone else gets, the ones for board members work, and work well, and Clarice realizes she has more fingers on her hand than seconds to spare.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” Lexi shouts as she reaches for the receiver.

  Clarice closes the distance between them in a flash and drives a fist into Lexi’s nose. It crunches immediately, causing Lexi to shriek. Clarice then grabs the phone off the nightstand and whacks the woman across the top of the head.

  The shrieking stops, and Lexi slumps to the ground. Clarice immediately kneels at the woman’s side. She presses two fingers into her neck and finds a pulse. It’s strong, and given that the board member is already stirring, she knows the woman will live and come to soon.

  Clarice reaches for the pink tag on Lexi’s ear, but decides against it. As much as she needs it, so does Lexi. Clarice considers leaving without it, but then realizes—prays is more like it—that the nurse at Preser Tech might have given Lexi a spare. After all, in all the time Clarice has been here, she has seen women wearing more than one on occasion.

  Clarice ransacks the apartment in record time. She tosses clothes, drawers, and the mattress while Lexi slowly regains consciousness. After thoroughly tossing the bedroom, Clarice darts into the bathroom and tosses it as well, but to her dismay, no tag is to be found.

  A groan comes from the bedroom, and Clarice knows she’s out of time. She heads back to Lexi in order to strip her of her tag but stops when she sees how helpless the woman looks. Unwilling to strip the woman of her only protection, all Clarice can do is hit the wall with her fist before running out of the door.

  She’ll find another way, Clarice tells herself. She’ll have to. And in the meantime, hopefully, Lexi won’t remember who to file a complaint against.

  * * *

  Hours pass before the lights flick on over the farm. The fluorescent bulbs hum to life and bathe the cubicles in a harsh, sterile light. People slowly file into the office, meandering about, snacking on doughnuts, sipping coffee, and making idle chatter. To Toby’s delirious delight, Clarice isn’t anywhere to be seen.

  But Matt is. Toby catches sight of him right as the surfer rounds a corner and slams into Toby’s office door.

  “Dude!” he says, wearing the biggest grin Toby’s ever seen. “Open up!”

  Toby doesn’t move, not because he’s scared, but because he’s exhausted.

  “Come on, bro!” Matt says, pounding the door and trying the handle a few times. “Don’t hang me out to dry!”

  Toby capitulates with a sigh. He trudges over, moves the chair out of the way, and unlocks the door.

  “Look at you, Mr. Big Kahuna!” Matt says, barging in and smacking Toby on the back. “You nailed her! I can’t believe you charged right up on Clarice like that.”

  Toby blinks. “What?”

  “You must have some wicked carves to nail your secretary your first day here, brah,” says Matt. He adjusts his tie and flicks a piece of lint from his white dress shirt. “You gotta tell me your secret.”

  “I didn’t do anything with her. I swear.”

  “Don’t try and psyche me out, boxer dude,” Matt says with a snicker and a point.

  “Dude-” Toby says. He stops himself from continuing when it dawns on him that he’s mimicking Matt to a tee. He then takes a deep breath and says, “I didn’t have sex with her.”

  “It’s nollie, I promise,” Matt says. “And Freddie keeps saying you’re his newest buck. Guess he was right on that!”

  “I didn’t-“

  “Whatever, brah,” Matt says. Annoyance crosses his face, and he folds his arms over his chest.

  Toby lets the matter drop. “What now?”

  Matt’s eyes light up. “Dude! The season’s starting!”

  “What season?”

  “Don’t be a nutter,” says Matt. “The season. And dude! You’ve got to get dressed for it. You can’t be running around here in your boxers when they come. Freddie’ll shut you down.”

  “I don’t have anything to wear,” Toby replies. “My clothes are gone.”

  Matt drums his fingers on his chest for a few beats. “Got it! I know right where you can get some.”

  “Let me guess, the mall?”

  “Naw, there’s a pile of clothes right outside your door.”

  Toby glances out the window. Sure enough, there’s a light-brown pair of pants and matching short-sleeved shirt neatly folded next to the door. Toby stares at them, and given all of the weird crap he’s been through as of late, he half expects the clothes to jump up and run off on their own.

  “You
better put them on, brah,” Matt says. “We can hit the mall later.”

  Toby nods and complies. Surprisingly, the pants are a good fit. The shirt, however, is slightly baggy. “Not bad,” Toby says, patting himself down. “Not bad at all.” Toby looks up in time to see Matt smirk. “What?”

  Matt shakes his head. “It says you’re the janitor.”

  Toby looks down and sure enough, over his left breast pocket is an embroidered tag that reads, “Janitor.”

  “We’ve got to get you some new threads,” Matt says with disdain. “I can’t be seen hanging with the guy that cleans the crapper. If we hurry, we can get something before Freddie sees you and freaks the fuck out.”

  * * *

  The elevator dings at the eighth floor, and the doors slide open. Matt takes the lead and steps off quickly. Toby is right behind, looking for an exit, but stops after a few steps. On the wall is a six-by-four-foot canvas with the picture of a man in a business suit, seated on the floor with Freddie standing proudly behind. The man is clutching a pen and legal pad, while Freddie himself has some sort of walking stick in hand. The background behind the two is severely out of focus, but Toby is pretty sure it’s the cubicle farm, nonetheless.

  “Last year, I think,” Matt says. “That was...uh...Daniel something. He was the...um...”

  “The VP of Communications and Investment Opportunities for the Acquisition of Hostile Companies,” Toby finishes, reading the name badge. The willies crawl up his back, make a home on his neck, and throw a party.

  “Wonder what happened to him,” Matt remarks offhandedly. “Long gone before I got here.”

  Toby continues to stare at the picture but doesn’t reply.

  “His loss, brah,” Matt says. “Let’s get you set.”

  Toby snaps out of his trance, and Matt is a good ten yards ahead of him down the hall. As Toby breaks into a trot to catch up, Matt suddenly halts. The surfer’s brow crinkles, and he takes several whiffs from the air with his nose.