Nobody Left Behind 20

Wow. Barely had to change this one.

Nobody Left Behind 1
Nobody Left Behind 2
Nobody Left Behind 3
Nobody Left Behind 4
Nobody Left Behind 5
Nobody Left Behind 6
Nobody Left Behind 7
Nobody Left Behind 7.5
Nobody Left Behind 8
Nobody Left Behind 9
Nobody Left Behind 10
Nobody Left Behind 11
Nobody Left Behind 12
Nobody Left Behind 13
Nobody Left Behind 14
Nobody Left Behind 15
Nobody Left Behind 16
Nobody Left Behind 17
Nobody Left Behind 18
Nobody Left Behind 19

———

Commissioner Sarsuk typed in his hacks, circumventing security, and overwriting controls. The code changes were simple, and he’d compressed the instructions to make typing them in as efficient as possible. But tapping buttons and on-screen keys without being able to see the display was always an error-prone nuisance.

At last, the communicator he’d tucked into his armpit buzzed three times, signaling that the code had been uploaded and accepted. Then, he set the communicator back down and hurried to the front closet where he retrieved his umbrella. From there, he lumbered outside and down five flights of stairs to the sidewalk below.

He paused on the last step, as he always did, worried that it wouldn’t work, but his claw touched concrete, and the simulation didn’t reset. With the umbrella’s metal tip, he sought out the left edge of the concrete path, then hurried across the sidewalk with the umbrella guiding his way.

He took the first left, then the second right. Crossing the street was always unnerving since there was no sidewalk edge to trace. He took twenty-seven paces, then swung the umbrella in low, wide arcs until it tapped against the curb—nearly perfect, right on course.

Following the curb, he walked two blocks, pausing at the appropriate spots to get around trash cans and lampposts. Right, then two blocks more, nine paces forward, and three at a diagonal to the left. When his makeshift cane tapped against the door, he discarded the umbrella and moved forward slower, using his palms to guide him now.

Through the door, following the left wall, around the potted plant, right, two steps across to the counter, two more steps, feeling his way to the open counter space between the register and the glass cabinet full of pastries. He so wished he could smell the shop.

Finally, he was through all the easy stuff, and now the challenging bit began. He drew a breath and released it slowly. With his left claw trembling, he reached slowly forward across the counter, left and right.

He hated pretending, making his claw tremble. It felt … manipulative, and this was the last person in the galaxy that Sarsuk really wanted to manipulate. Oh well, the schtick proved more reliable than anything else he’d tried. He touched a napkin dispenser. He touched a flimsy triangular sign made from folded cardboard. And then… And then… A soft palm warmed the back of his claw. Ah, success!

He reached forward with his right, gently setting his palm atop the stranger’s claw. “I know you can’t hear me, Ashiok, and I can’t hear you either,” he whispered. “You must think I’ve gone blind and deaf and mute, but I need you to listen to me.”

He squeezed the barista’s claw twice, then pulled the one claw away. He raised a fist and used his thumb to mime a clicking motion twice. Then, he mimed writing in the air.

When he first started making his nightly trips to the virtual version of Solar Bark, Sarsuk would bring a pen with him, but Ashiok always kept one nearby, so a quick charade to get it from him proved trivial enough.

When Ashiok handed him the pen, Sarsuk searched the counter again for the folded sign. He unfolded it, turned it inside out, and in the tidiest penmanship he could manage, he wrote: “Urgent! Crucial you come with me!”

That worked nearly every time. He tugged on Ashiok’s wrist with all the urgency he could convey. With his free claw, he pointed back toward the door. Another thirty seconds of silent cajoling, and the barista’s resolve weakened.

He led Ashiok to the door and out, back to the sidewalk, and on in the direction he’d been heading initially. Ashiok made this part easy. He was a natural at guiding, even while the two held claws. Sarsuk didn’t need the umbrella while he had the barista with him.

“Oh, Ashiok,” the yellow krakun sighed as they walked together, “someday I’ll find the bit of code that resets everything when I fall asleep, and I’ll cut it out. It’s in there somewhere. I will find it eventually.”

Sarsuk grinned wide. “That’ll be glorious! Until then, well, I guess nothing really matters. You won’t remember this tomorrow, and we’ll be starting over fresh once more.” He leaned his head on the red krakun’s shoulder, admitting, “Truthfully, this reset problem has been rather liberating. At first, I was afraid of getting you to leave the store, but now, I don’t overthink it. If I screw up today, we’ll just try again tomorrow, try harder.”

He walked in silence a little longer, wondering what Ashiok must be saying. “Where are you taking me? What’s so important? I have to get back to my job!” But whatever, it hardly mattered if Sarsuk got him fired. When he fell asleep, the simulation would reset, and Ashiok—and his job—would too.

“Tomorrow is the weekend. That’ll give me a few more hours to search for the sleep code.” Sarsuk grinned. “And I promise to save half the weekend for us! Then, we’ll get eighteen hours together instead of our usual four. You’ll love that—at least, you seem to, once you get over the fear of being fired, that is.”

Eighteen hours wasn’t nearly enough, but at least it would give the two a chance to talk. Talking to Ashiok was easy. The young krakun kept a pen and a fresh pad of paper in his cramped apartment.

Listening to him, unfortunately, was much more of a challenge. For yes and no questions, Sarsuk put his palm on Ashiok’s cheek so he could feel him nod or shake his head. But for anything else, Ashiok had to trace the individual letters onto Sarsuk’s chest one-by-one.

Sarsuk rather enjoyed the intimacy of Ashiok’s questions, and after doing this a few times, he knew generally what the other krakun would ask him and in what order. The frustrating thing was that it took about ten hours of failing to communicate with Ashiok first before the younger male even got desperate enough to touch Sarsuk’s chest, and that only left them eight hours to really talk each weekend.

He sighed. “You don’t know this yet, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to convince you that it’s true, but I love you. You’re the reason I keep striving, the reason I keep at it all.

“You’re the secret I’ll never give up, no matter how many interns they have interrogate me.”

———

Reviewer's link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Ic8NcYyq9COXeXg8gPSUFF57uEZxS3l1Y6j7SlMYnYI/edit?usp=sharing

Thoughts?