circle7 | Intermediate Communication Studies 202

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Intermediate Communication Studies 202

The Eldabaran Gracia campus was as industrial as its students, overwhelmingly modern, with sweeping hallways gilded in glossy white and textured aluminum, doorways shaped from frothy blue glass, and ceilings the arced up like a whale’s ribcage. Eldabaran Gracia was not a school of excessive grandiose, but it was a school of considerable wealth. It had to be. Being a reputable school of technology and science among a galaxy full of competitors required up-to-date resources and tools. Of course, Eldabaran’s far-reaching range of technological equipment were not for play, and enrolled students became increasingly aware of this their first year — several dropped out within the first semester. Everything was focused, clinical, and serious, and newcomers certainly couldn’t help but notice how remarkably clean everything was, from the pale-washed walls to the reflective, slick floors.

Calibri would have noticed on that particular day, that the halls weren’t, as they normally were, populated with students poring over notes last minute or having conversations about recent test results. The halls were instead quite empty. Class 318-C, Intermediate Biochemical Pharmacology and Toxicology, was similarly empty. A class that normally hosted around 50 students (give or take) now hosted lines of empty desks and unused lab equipment. Down the stadium steps of the classroom and sitting with his feet propped up on center desk in front of the projector screen was Garamond, reclining back in the professor’s chair with a small glass of brandy. He smiled when Calibri came through the doorway.

“Good to see you again,” Garamond said. “It’s been what? Two years? How old are you now?”

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It was easier said than done to closely examine the process of a tie being speedily done somewhere underneath his chin. It was difficult to see exactly what was being looped and pulled on when all he could see was the slight movement of Garamond's wrist, and more so when he was also being yanked in every other direction by even the slightest of tugs and nudges. Soon enough, the man pulled away and clapped his hands on his shoulders, nearly making Calibri buckle where he stood from the unexpected contact.

How heavy-handed, thought Calibri. Garamond would have upset an entire table full of test tubes and beakers by now.

Pulling hesitantly at the end of his tie and slowly feeling up the smooth, silk navy material until his fingers bumped into the knot, Calibri looked down with a contemplative frown, still unable to see anything past his chin and the bridge of his nose. If knowing how to do a tie was as an important of a life skill as Garamond made it out to be, he would have to do some independent research later on.

"Thank you," he said, although he was relatively sure that Garamond's comment implied that his normal state of dress was 'unclean', somehow (which was preposterous, considering he kept nearly every possession of his as sanitized as possible). He looked up at Garamond then and though gratitude and some degree of respect was probably expected, all that registered on his face was sheer perplexity, as if he still didn't quite understand why Garamond was here, why he was dressed in these clothes, and why being able to do a tie was a necessary human skill at all.

Not seeming at all perplexed by Calibri’s confusion, Garamond quickly ushered him along. The space where the party was being held was only a few blocks away from the campus, so they walked. Garamond would have offered to drive, but he was well aware of the fact that he didn’t exactly look like a trustworthy chauffer, being already suspected (quite accurately) of being a criminal. After crossing several sidewalks, a pair of double doors, and a brief ride on an elevator, they arrived.

The room appeared to be some kind of guest lobby that had been hollowed out completely except for a few spare chairs hugging the walls, some houseplants, and a bar. And although impressively large and emptied of furniture, the room did not at all give the impression of emptiness. In fact, it was downright claustrophobic. People filled every corner of the room. Humanoid, Insectoid, Reptilian,— a huge toad-like man that had to bend over to prevent from hitting the ceiling —the party seemed to cater to all sorts.

There was no one, however, around Calibri’s age. This made Calibri a target of attention as soon as he walked onto the mauve carpet.

Calibri was promptly swept up by the idle pleasantries of introductions and smalltalk before he could even consider the prospect of dodging behind his host. The crowd swept both men up into its folds almost immediately, and just as immediately, Calibri found himself at the mercy of a handful of questions that more resembled interrogations than proper curiosity, but he answered to the best of his ability nonetheless, even if sometimes, his curt responses attracted strange stares.

It was odd - everyone he spoke to seemed to have expected him to be a great deal more interesting than he actually was. They gave him plainly incredulous looks when he repeated that yes, he was a student here and yes, only a student and that no, he was acquainted with Garamond but really did not know what was going on with the illegal trade embargo in Aclides and absolutely in no way was he a "boy toy" of any kind, although they shut up very promptly when he tried to clarify that unfamiliar slang.

What ultimately broke through the drone of voices was a distinct clicking noise to his left - one that was followed by the stilted words of a translator moments later, though he paid no heed to that. Calibri looked through the sea of faces and let the sound of the Insectoid language ground him Finally, something he understood completely!

"I am not from the Erclessian area, actually," he responded in the Insect's language, an entire tongue made of broken clicks and clacks that ranged in frequency and pitch, ignoring how it made a few guests frown in confusion. It sounded odd, no doubt, coming from a human mouth, which was made for much more lyrical, melodious languages, but at least the brief silence it had instilled allowed him to look around for Garamond.

Fortunately Calibri didn’t have to spend long searching for Garamond, because Garamond was quick to find him. Garmond weighed a hand down on Calibri’s shoulder as he stepped up. A glass of alcohol had materialized in his other hand since they separated. He extended it out with a nod towards the small crowd that had sprouted up around Calibri. “I see you’ve met Nathaniel,” Garamond said with a grin, giving the boy a small shake. “Good kid, good kid. Going to be the star of Celga Labs once he graduates.”

“Ah, Bradley,” Garamond said, his hand leaving Calibri’s shoulder and extending out to tale the claw of the insectoid at Calibri’s side. Shaking hands was not a common gesture of the Krellidae species, but ‘Bradley’ seemed perfectly adjusted. “A pleasure.”

The insectoid turned to Calibri, “My real name is Qlrk’riqktvlek. I’m a cross-species anthropologist. Mammalian tongue usually cannot pronounce our language. What a pleasant surprise to meet a human that is fluent.”

For once, the heavier-than-usual weight of Garamond's hand was entirely welcome, even if the shake that followed it was less so. Calibri raised a hand to push up his glasses, which had slid down his face from the jolt, before responding to Qlrk'riqktvlek, who didn't seem to expect a handshake in turn, as that was an entirely human construct of behavior.

"My family is stationed on Krellida; I was born there," he explained, and because there was a mutual dislike of small-talk between the two of them, neither felt obligated to partake in it, much to Calibri's relief. Instead, he turned to look up at Garamond, who really was the only solid clue he had as to what was going on in this little congregation anyway, only pausing to call out a customary Krellidae parting when 'Bradley' began to move away: a strong and echoed, "Bountiful be the Queen."

"Sir," he said immediately afterward to the larger man, once there was enough of a lull in the conversation to do so. "What is this party for?"

And why was he missing class for it?

"Business!" Garamond replied simply, his hand finding Calibri's shoulder again. "A few clients of mine insisted they get a chance to meet you. This is a good opportunity for you to network, you know. Get your name out there. You'll need some connections once your contract with Celga expires anyway, hm? ...But you're not really the social type, are you?"

It was very slight, the change in his face - a twitch of one eye, the slight curl of one corner of his mouth. Calibri might have not even been aware he was making a face, but it made it very clear, nonetheless, exactly what he thought of networking. "I was just under the impression that in your line of work, fame found you."

"Yes, well you'd be right I suppose," Garamond played a subtle smirk over his lips, finding some amusement in Calibri's sour expression. "But I do have the responsibility to keep tabs on the not-so-famous. And you're not exactly in my line of work now, are you? Disappointing, I know, but we do run several legitimate corporations. You'll have to accept my apologies if you were expecting a ticket to a life of crime."

"I was expecting a Bio-Organic chemistry review, sir," Calibri answered as he turned back toward the encroaching crowd of so-and-so-officials or this-and-that-representatives, and if he sounded a little childishly petulant, then that must have been Garamond's ears. "This serves little purpose," he clicked in Krellidae, which, to the Krellidae, might as well have been the lowest of insults to be bestowed upon any situation.

Stepping away from the other man, Calibri adjusted his tie, willing it to lay straight, and went to go meet his unfortunate fate. If he was obligated to do this, he might as well do it efficiently and get back to his studies, which were of a much more pressing concern. In fact, this time, as a stately woman adorned garishly in precious gems approached with a round little balding man hanging off her arm, he even put his hand out for a shake.

"Nathaniel Calibri, sir, just call me Nathan."

The smile would have to come next time. She hung back a little, surprised, perhaps, at the oddly homicidal atmosphere he seemed to be surrounded at, or maybe just a little blinded by the sudden glinting of light off his glasses. "Oh," she said, without taking his hand. Instead, she looked up at Garamond. "This is that student of yours, Victor?" she asked, over-familiarly.

Garamond couldn’t help but be amused in the increased level of discomfort weighing down on Calibri’s normally expressionless brow. Garamond was made well aware that Calibri was not exactly pleased about be missing important study dates. He wore it as plain as day, and Garamond was sure he wasn’t the only one who noticed. Rather than be offended by the boy’s blatant disregard for conventional matters of respect, however, Garamond found humor in it. Calibri’s anti-social demeanor brought a spot of entertainment, at least from Garamond’s perspective, to an otherwise boring party.

“That he is,” Garamond confirmed, his glance rising up to the woman as he took a swig from his drinks. “Charming, isn’t he? Top of his class.”

It would have been a hefty compliment, perhaps, if it weren't for the fact that there only were a handful of students remaining in his particular field of study, and if it weren't for the fact that most of his peers were hardly what one would call extraordinary anyway. (Of all things, let it never be said that Calibri wasn't humble or anything.)

Calibri let his hand fall back to his side (maybe he had started the handshake incorrectly, or maybe it was the wrong hand, or maybe the situational context wasn't correct; this would need further study) and lowered his eyes humbly as the woman reeled back on her husband's arm and brought a hand to rest on her chest, splayed at the collar in exaggerated surprise. (Human beings were so inefficient in their gestures.)

"He's a bit young, isn't he? Just a child! Picking them up early now?"

There was something about the tone of voice she was using that even Calibri, who was usually so oblivious to social cues, could feel himself bristle. He unconsciously drew himself up taller and straighter, frowning despite his initial good intentions.

“Boy’s clever enough to get into a college program two years early,” Garamond said with a courteous grin. “Can’t fault me on recognizing young talent, can you? Besides, our scholarship program runs separate from the circle, you know that. Highly unlikely he’ll get tangled up in anything disreputable. Wouldn’t want to corrupt this one. He’s a shining example of morality, isn’t that right, boy?”

The hand clapped against Calibri’s back this time, and Garamond laughed.

“Ah, yes, speaking of morality,” Garamond suddenly lost his cheerful demeanor, his expression falling into a flat, unimpressed stare. “I heard some rather nasty rumors that your insurance company was funneling money to a union bureaucrat who’s been giving you medical information about potential clients illegally. Certainly, it’s none of my business what you do with your money, and by extension I’d say it’s none of your business what I do with mine.”

Barely catching him from stumbling forward with one foot in front of him, Calibri managed to look up at the woman over the top edge of his glasses as he recovered, the angle particularly ominous in a way that lent itself to his advantage. "In contrast, I assure you that my studies are entirely legal," he said, straightening and tilting his head in a way that was almost bird-like. "For now."

Her face stayed placid in the way expressions only stayed placid when they were being pulled very tightly over very unbridled indignation. The wrinkled skin around her heavily-defined lashes and eyes tightened, her lipstick smile hung in place. "My, what nasty rumors," she said at last, gloved fingers tightening around her escort's arm ever so imperceptibly. "I'll have to do something about that." The way she said it made it unclear whether it was the content of the rumors or the fact that rumors were spreading that she intended to deal with. She inclined her head, more backwards than forward in respect and left with a curt, "Gentlemen."

Honestly, a bio-organic chemistry review would have been so much more productive.

"That's called politics," Garamond said to Calibri as he took another drink off the top of his glass, watching as the woman disappeared back into the crowd. "Another something you have to look forward to once you graduate. Lovely, isn't it?"

Finishing off what was left in his drink, Garamond dropped it off on a tray carried by one of the waitstaff. He led Calibri to a few faces he thought the boy might have better luck with, and he did for the most part, although all his interactions fell slightly short of tact and any kind of emotion. It wasn't long before another waiter came by and offered Garamond a drink, pointing out that a man at the leftmost corner of the room had sent it to him.

Garamond narrowed his eyes, not recognizing the man in the corner, but exchanged a thankful not to the waitstaff as he walked off. Garamond glanced down at the drink. "Huh."

Curiosity getting the better of him (one of the few things to do so), Calibri peered over Garamond's forearm at the transparent, champagne-gold liquid in his fancy wine flute. It looked as expensive as the rest of the decor and smelled of a myriad blend of exotic and foreign fruits, fancy aging and just a touch of Dicarbonide Chlorophine - or rather, the bubbles that only made their way sluggishly out of the drink to burst at the surface did.

Calibri, who specialized in mixtures of this exact sort, did what any person in his shoes would naturally do - putting a hand against the bottom of the flute and without even taking it out of Garamond's fingers, he tipped the glass to the side and took a sip.

"Don't drink that," he said, after both swallowing and swilling it around in his mouth once or twice. "It's..." What was that word they always used on campus? "...Spiked."

Surprised by Calibri's gesture, Garamond stared out skeptically at the boy for a few moments, then tipped his glass downward and stared down the liquid inside. Recovering a grin and parting with a laugh, Garamond shrugged, raising the glass to his lips. "'Course it's spiked. It's alcohol."

A hand at Garamond's elbow, surprisingly rigid, stopped the glass from reaching his mouth.

"With poison," Calibri clarified.

Under normal circumstances, Calibri’s grip wouldn’t have stopped Garamond. After all, he could easily lift the boy off of the ground with that arm, but there was something about the stiff-handed urgency that caused Garamond to reel back from the drink and pay attention to Calibri. He’d almost spilt it. A lucky break that he didn’t, given the price of his suit (although one wondered exactly how hard it would be for Garamond to replace something like that).

“Poisoned?” Garamond echoed in question, and a silence seemed to chill the space around them, a few party guests looking on with worried or disbelieving faces.

Given the sudden attention and the intent questioning, a person with less confidence and self-assurance would have shrunk back and deferred, but although Calibri didn't really have a sizable ego, he had simply never been taught to doubt himself. He tasted poison, so he said so - there was nothing about social modicum or taboo subjects in a group setting that offset that conclusion in the least.

Immediate danger apparently avoided, Calibri nodded and let go of Garamond's sleeve. "Technically, it's only a mild drug that will cause paralysis an hour or two after ingestion, but it has been known to leave permanent damage in the neural synapses. So yes, categorically speaking, a poison."

Was this a test?

Had it been, Garamond likely would have given Calibri a congratulations and a strong pat on the back. A collective sigh of relief would have sounded from the small crowd around them, the party would be over, and Calibri would be free to go back to his studies. Garamond did not seem at all pleased with the revelation, however, lines sketching into his forehead as he stared down Calibri. His expression was disbelieving, not in Calibri, but in the idea that he would be slipped a poison here of all places.

His glance tore through the crowd looking for the man he’d spotted just moment ago, but to no avail. The man had disappeared into the sea of guests. The crowd stilled, and there was a soft rumble of voices as nearby guests began to speak about what had just transpired, questioning if it was safe to drink the punch, or remarking that Garamond’s student was just making a scene. The buzz of whispers continued for a moment, expanding even beyond the small circle of observers around Calibri and Garamond.

And then there was the clap of a gunshot.

Everyone scattered.

The clap sounded again. Twice. Garamond couldn’t gather the time look for its source before he was forced to move with the wave of the crowd. People were tumbling over one another to get to the door. He dropped the glass and took Calibri to his shoulder, his back shelling the student from the direction of the fire. “Change of plans,” Garamond said, sweeping Calibri forward towards the door. “We’re getting you back to school.”

Test or not, it seemed the party was over.

Stumbling to match Garamond's quick-paced gait, Calibri didn't even have the time to remind the man that technically speaking, they were still on school grounds, let alone to ask for a sample of the drink to test, since the faculty here were such sticklers for precaution that they usually didn't allow lethal substances like that on campus.

What a waste.

He would have been more surprised at the turn of events if he were less aware of the nature of his sponsors supposed businesses, or if he were less aware of the nature of human beings in general. They seemed so eager to get rid of each other all the time anyway. The only thing that struck him now, though, was the sheer chaos that the three gunshots had caused and how easily it reduced the stuffy posturing of the guests to frantic sprinting and tripping over their eight-inch heels.

What a mess.

"Security?" he prompted, looking up at Garamond when he could spare the moment. "You should call security."

"Later," Garamond snorted out, fishing out small egg-like capsule from his pen pocket. He threw it on the ground with enough velocity to shatter it, a thick, colored gas mushrooming up from its shattered remains. The smoke screen did nothing the quell the panic in the room, and people began to tumble over one another and shout. It gave Garamond a clearing, however, and with a burst of strength he picked Calibri up and shoved through the crowd shoulder first like a linebacker. He pushed Calibri out into the hallway once he reached the door.

Garamond, with some space to himself, unbuttoned his coat and unsheathed a gun that had been concealed away in a holster beneath it.

"Hurry and head back, take the stairs," Garamond ordered. "You’ll be followed if I go with you."

Rather than protest, Calibri stood up from his instinctual crouch, but didn't quite leave just yet. The way he stood angled his left arm away from Garamond, who was too busy peering over their cover to really notice the way Calibri was flexing his fingers anyway. He had drank the poisoned drink, but so far, there was only numbness.

"What are your chances of survival in this situation with the current known parameters?"

“I’ve survived worse,” Garamond said, pressing up against the ridge of the doorway. People were still pouring out in a stampeded. There’d been no shots fired since the smoke had filled up the room, but that didn’t seem to slow down any of the guests.

“Judging by what you said he’s not out to kill me right away, but I could be wrong,” Garamond’s glance turned to Calibri. “You didn’t drink enough of that stuff to down you, did you?”

"No," Calibri said, turning towards the stairs already. Without so much as a well-wishing or parting, he did as he was told and began to climb down the stairs until he hit the first floor. As Garamond said, it seemed that whatever forces that had been tailing them were entirely uninterested in him; he met no resistance at all in the almost-abandoned building, save for the occasional guest tripping over themselves to get out of the building, and in such cases they were too concerned for their own well-being to pay him any mind anyway.

Suddenly, he stopped.

This wing looked familiar - these drab walls and these scuffed tiles. This was one of the ceremonial buildings that was technically off-campus, but laid so close to the area that they were often considered an extension of Eldabaran Gracia properties anyway. It was not uncommon for such buildings to be appropriated by the school as extra classrooms when classes became too large, and often they were connected to the other buildings via sky-bridges or underground passageways, like the true university establishments. That could only mean...

Instead of heading towards the door, he darted back to the stairs and slipped into the basement before breaking into a run.

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