Data Cube
By now, Victor was convinced that everyone in the rehabilitation center thought he was insane. The nurses and orderlies all treated him kindly, but the moment he started talking about hormigas and aliens and the interference in space, they all put on that false smile that said, "Yes, yes. I'm listening to every word you say, Vico, and I believe you." Which was a lie. If they believed him, they would do something. They would give him back his belongings and send him to someone who could help: a government official, the press, the military, anyone who would take him seriously and help him get a warning to Earth. Instead, the staff all nodded and smiled and treated him like a head case as they wheeled him to his various physical therapy sessions and shot him with meds that were supposed to help rebuild muscle mass.
So when they told him someone from the Lunar Trade Department was coming to speak with him about his case, Victor allowed himself to hope. Finally. Someone with some authority who can actually help.
Then they wheeled him into the room where the woman was waiting, and all of Victor's hope went right out the window. She was way too young. Not much older than him, probably. Either an intern or barely out of college. A nobody in the professional sense.
"Hello, Victor. I'm Imala Bootstamp."
"Who's your boss?" Victor asked.
The question caught her off guard. "My boss?"
"The person you report to. Your superior. It's a simple question."
"Why is that relevant?"
"It's absolutely relevant because that is the person I need to be talking to. Actually, I need to be speaking to your boss's boss's boss's boss. But since you probably don't have access to that person, I'll start with your boss and we'll work our way up."
She smiled, sat back in her chair, and looked around her. "This seems like a nice facility. They're taking good care of you?"
"The bed is comfortable, but I'm a prisoner. The two kind of cancel each other out."
She nodded. "Seems clean at least."
They were sitting alone in a stark white room with a glass wall and ceiling, affording them a view of the city and the ship traffic high overhead.
"Haven't you been here before?" asked Victor "You work with the LTD. You're a caseworker. All injured immigrants come here. Are you telling me you've never actually done this job before?"
"Let's say I'm new," she said.
He could tell he was annoying her. He didn't care.
"Incidentally," Victor said, "do you actually know who your boss is? Because you seemed rather unsure when I asked a second ago."
"I thought I was supposed to be the one asking the questions."
"Are you unsure of that, too?"
She forced a smile. "All right, Victor. If we're going to be perfectly honest with each other, no, I don't know who my boss is. I got this assignment about twenty minutes ago from someone who doesn't even work in Customs. So he's technically not my boss. I haven't even been to the Customs offices yet. I came directly here from my previous job. So I don't even have a computer terminal or a desk or a mail account yet. If the door was locked, I couldn't get in the building because I don't yet have an access ring. Fair enough? That's my resume."
"Wow," said Victor. "I can't tell you how much confidence that instills in me to know that my assigned caseworker, the person responsible for getting me out of here, is so deeply experienced in the field. Boy am I going to sleep well tonight."
"You're welcome to file an appeal and request a new caseworker, but you should know that there's a three-week turnaround. Don't expect a new person to walk in here tomorrow."
He leaned forward. "Look, Ms. Bootstamp--"
"Call me Imala."
"Fine. Imala. I'm sure you're a nice person. And I'm not normally a jerk, but you are not the answer to my problem. You are so far removed from the answer to my problem that you and I shouldn't even be talking. I wish you well in your new job, but the best way for you to help me is to find out who your boss is and to bring me that person. Make sense?"
She was quiet a moment. Then she smiled again. "You broke the law, Victor. Maybe that hasn't been explained to you clearly enough, but you entered lunar gravity in a manned spacecraft without clearance or authorization. A rather serious offense. You also illegally disrupted a government flight-control frequency. Another serious offense."
"I didn't know it was a restricted frequency. I was trying to--"
"I'm not finished," she said. "You also have no passport, no birth certificate, no proof of identity, no right whatsoever to be on this moon. You may have broken these laws in ignorance, but the law doesn't care. My job is to review the law with you and hear your case to see if your situation warrants legal leniency based on extenuating circumstances beyond your control. These are defined as potential loss of life and potential property damage of a 'significant' value. You may not like the fact that I'm new and inexperienced. But I am the person assigned to your case. This is my job and I'm going to do it. Now, you obviously think I'm stupid. And apparently you have no social skills because you're unable to conceal the fact that you think I'm stupid. But here's the thing, I'm not actually stupid. I know how this world works. You don't. I know trade and customs law. You don't. I know what's necessary to get you freed. You don't. So you can make demands until you're purple in the face, but you will never see anyone above me until I say so. And right now I don't say so. As far as I'm concerned, you have two options: You can submit to my questions and possibly let me help you. Or you can sit in your room until your grace period expires and the judge plops you on a shuttle back to wherever it was you came from. Your choice. When I come back tomorrow, you can give me your answer."
She got up. And without waiting for him to respond, she was out the door and gone.