Intermediate Communication Studies 202

[pugsmuggler]

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?”

Comments

[pugsmuggler]

"Easy, easy," Garamond warned, picking the boy off the ground and continuing his descent out of the building. "Let's get you a detox."

[tactician]

Calibri had little choice but to flop along as Garamond picked him up and started moving. He couldn't feel anything past his elbows and hips. He tried once or twice to move his arms, but all he ended up doing was slapping his hands feebly into Garamond's face. "My apologies for that," he mumbled, still preoccupied with frowning at his feet, as if they would spring back into attention and into control if he glared hard enough. "Go to the chemistry lab instead of the nurse's office, please."

[pugsmuggler]

"The lab, huh?" Garamond confirmed. He saw no point in questioning it. The kid so far had proven so far that he knew what he was doing. Once out of the building, instead of hoist Calibri across a couple miles of sidewalk and back to his classroom, he hailed a cab and dropped Calibri into the back seat, joining him for the ride.

"To clarify," he began. "This isn't the kind of things you'll need to get used to. Not in your line of work."

[tactician]

Calibri's head lolled back against the headrest. He seemed to have trouble picking it back up.

"To clarify," he said to the roof of the vehicle, "by these 'kind of things' you are referring to...?"

[pugsmuggler]

Garamond smiled, his hands folding calmly in his lap. He closed his eyes briefly. He decided to pay no mind to their poor chauffeur, who, pale as a sheet, already seemed intimidated enough that someone like Garamond occupied his backseat. He was quiet, and Garamond imagined he'd stay that way regardless of what he overheard.

"What you saw," he said. "Isn't something a kid like you should see. It's not something I have plans for you to see. You're a smart kid, but a little naive about how the world works. Celga's a real company, Nathaniel. Order sanctioned and everything. No crooks can set foot in the place, let alone start gun fight there. Sure, there's the odd biochemical weapon developed there, but that's usually under Government commission. They mainly do research. Hell, I don't think we'd have half the medical knowledge we do today if it wasn't for their branch."

[tactician]

It was, Calibri thought, what off-planet human beings would have considered a moral quandary. People were renowned for having a distinctly un-Krellidae method of thinking, after all. Sometimes, the most difficult part of their interaction was parsing their words - full of so many euphemisms and idioms and dancing around the subject in fear of hurting someone's feelings, in fear of ruining someone's mindset, in fear of doing some irreparable damage to something without having raised their hand. It took Calibri a few moments to work past it.

"Allow me to clarify," he said, before noticing that a few sharp turns in succession had caused his body to flop onto the nearest car door, making for a very bumpy ride that kept on knocking his head against the window, to the point where his glasses were slowly being jostled off his face. He made a half-futile, half-too-effective move to push himself off with an increasingly unresponsive elbow and ended up ricocheting off the door and onto Garamond's arm instead.

What a mess.

"You're concerned," he said, while trying to push off of Garamond this time, "About the state of my psyche after having seen a man die by gunpoint."

[pugsmuggler]

Garamond's glance fell down on the body propped on his shoulder. Calibri wasn't in good shape. The poisons weighed down on his limbs heavily, and he was no doubt a bit drowsy. Calibri had only taken a small sampling, but the substance had been intended to knock a man of Garamond's size for days. His smile keeping, Garamond patted the kid on the head.

"You can simplify it that way," he agreed. "Go ahead and sleep if you need to, kid. We can get you fixed up back at the ship. I'll send you back to school later."

And before Calibri could even have a say in it, he went ahead and filled the driver in on their new destination.

[tactician]

Calibri clicked something in Krellidae against Garamond's arm, most of it muffled by the fabrick of his suit jacket at the shoulder. It sounded like the gentle creak of a grasshopper strumming its legs in the summer heat.

This was disappointing. He would have to build up his tolerance to the substance. He hardly ingested a milliliter in total of the stuff, considering it had been diluted into the fizzy champagne and- ...was it the alcohol?!

His head shot up, eyes wide, glasses askew. "Champagne."

[pugsmuggler]

Garamond, who had just extended his glance forward, quickly looked back at Calibri when he heard the outburst. With a blink, he straightened and leaned back against his seat.

"Champagne?"

[tactician]

Even having raised his head, Calibri could barely peek over the top of Garamond's shoulder. "It was the champagne," he hissed conspiratorially, before his eyelids drooped shut and he relaxed back against the seat, completely lax.