“Mr. Maker?”
“G-good evening, sir. You've reached his office line.” Iris stammered as she fumbled with the receiver. “Can I help you with something?”
“Tell him that his specialist called, if you would, please.” The voice on the other end of the line lingered on each word, trying to drive home the importance of each syllable. “It’s regarding a matter of some urgency.”
The phone clicked off before Iris could respond and request contact information on this “specialist.” She did have the presence of mind to scribble down the incoming call number from the phone’s display screen before the numbers vanished but was otherwise too exhausted to do much else before clocking out for the day. Mr. Maker emerged from his office with his briefcase in hand as Iris shut down her laptop.
“Good night, Iris.” Warren waved unenthusiastically.
“Oh, sir. You had a phone call a minute ago.” Iris paced after him empty-handed. “Your specialist called, but they didn’t leave a—”
“Thank you.” Warren interrupted with a smirk. “I’ve been waiting for them to call back. That’ll be all, Iris. See you in the morning.”
Warren entered the elevator alone, as Iris had left her belongings behind to catch him before he departed. The doors closed on his smug, self-important posturing.
Well, at least today wasn’t a total loss. Warren grinned to himself. Looks like I still have a chance to make the most of this evening…
Iris stood by the elevators, waiting for another chance to head down to the parking garage, while shifting her weight back and forth to keep from locking her knees. It had been another wretched day at GC&S, and Iris was eager to return home to the welcoming arms of her roommates. She wished that there was someone to spend this seeming eternity with, but Evelyn left work early to run errands for Lane, and Iris was all alone again. Iris bowed her head to fight despair and failed to hear the high-pitched ding of the arriving elevator.
“Are you getting on?” Mr. Cavendish asked from behind Iris, but she was too exhausted to be spooked by his appearance. “Door’s open.”
Iris took a deep sigh and strode forward without looking at him. Mr. Cavendish followed, loosened his collar, and brushed back his hair that had been mussed from wearing a portable headset to make calls all afternoon. He glanced down at Iris and narrowed his eyes at her deflated posture and dour disposition. Mr. Cavendish then stared at their reflections in the stainless-steel elevator doors and noticed a cold, bleary pair of strangers looking back. Each had their own brand of exhaustion, coupled with a gloominess that came with having a perpetual raincloud overhead.
“I’m so glad to be heading home.” Iris mustered while fiddling with her bag strap and concealing her injured hand. “Hard day today. How about you?”
“Yeah, it was pretty miserable, I’ll admit.” Mr. Cavendish forced a huff and a weak smile. “We lost a lot of ground with several clients. And I’m not sure what to do about tomorrow if I’m honest.”
The elevator creaked on its merry way as a silence settled on the lonesome car. Mr. Cavendish had spent the better part of the day doing damage control on faulty orders and incomplete deliveries, which had sapped the color from his face. He had felt like there was no one to share this burden with, and all seemed so lost and hopeless today.
“I don’t understand what’s going wrong.” Cavendish admitted. “We’ve never had trouble like this before.”
“You’re smart, sir.” Iris comforted, sensing his melancholy. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but it’s true. You got us out of a jam two years ago with the wireless tether debacle, and I’m confident you can pull us through this rough patch.”
“That was a little different.” Cavendish sighed. “That was a technology problem, not a delivery issue. We keep losing collateral, and I’m not sure how it keeps going missing.”
“Maybe we’re too far away from it, sir.” Iris opined, looking like a wise and weary guru with half-closed eyes. “You have to keep your attention on the big picture all the time, so maybe we can’t see the little details or the missing pieces.”
It wasn’t an impossible idea; Mr. Cavendish did have lots of plates spinning constantly to keep GC&S running smoothly. He simply didn’t have the time to devote to looking after all the fiddly details that slipped through the cracks day-to-day. To be fair, that was never a strong suit of his, and it was his duty as a manager to delegate such things to more meticulous employees. In theory, that was Lane’s and Warren’s responsibility, but they’d failed to pin down the cause of the supply chain disruptions.
“It’s like this.” Iris reached into her faux leather bag and handed Mr. Cavendish her GC&S tumbler that she’d received as an employee appreciation gift last year. “Here, take this, sir.”
"What's this for?" Cavendish squinted at the thoroughly loved drink container.
"Look at it." Iris pressed.
"It's a tumbler. So what?"
"It isn't just a tumbler, sir. Look again.” Iris insisted and paused for his response, but only received a puzzled expression for her trouble. “It's a 20-ounce metal drinking vessel with lots of dents and nicks in it. It has our corporate logo on the outside and a marking where the drinker's lipstick was left inside on the silver lining. It even still smells like the coffee that was in it. One creamer, one sugar, and a dash of flavoring syrup."
Iris clasped Mr. Cavendish’s hands around the tumbler, forcing him to feel the presence of the object in his grasp while doing so. Her hands were still so frigid that it sent a jolt of energy through his tensed and tired body. Iris pulled from an internal store of desperate energy that she wasn’t aware of to try and reach him at that moment.
"What else does it tell you? Think..." Iris urged.
"What else is there?"
"It's mine, Mr. Cavendish. Everything about it tells you that it's mine.” Iris released her hold on his hands and allowed him to internalize what she’d said. “Don't you see? My lipstick, coffee, dents, and nicks are all there. It's all in the details. I would wager all the money in my pockets that you'll never mistake this for someone else's tumbler from now on."
The elevator creaked and settled at the parking garage level, and Iris stepped out into the concrete hollow to meet Mr. Salvatore at their arranged spot. Uncle Sal eagerly awaited her arrival with the air-conditioned car ready for her to enjoy herself in comfort. Iris turned back to wave at Mr. Cavendish, climbed into the dark car, and they sped off into the blistering heat of the early-July afternoon, leaving him behind.
Mr. Cavendish lingered in the vast expanse of the garage and cursed himself silently for driving separately that morning. Despite the ambient warmth of the garage, he shivered while remembering the subtle grooves of the stainless-steel tumbler, and the cool touch of Iris’s hands around his own. Mr. Cavendish clenched his fingers into fists, then relaxed the muscles and allowed a wave of relief to wash over him. For the first time all day, he felt his spirits liven, and he anxiously hoped the feeling would last.
Iris approached the modest apartment with a weary swagger and climbed the stairs with intent. A gentle peel of delicate music trilled from behind the closed door, drawing her interest. Iris carefully opened the front door and tried not to make a sound that might disrupt the music within.
The tune was light, hopeful, and familiar. Iris struggled to plumb the depths of her memory to recall what the song was, but she failed to remember it just then. She was more interested in the musician instead, and she prowled into the living room to see Khazmine playing on the stool with her back to the front door. A twitch of her sensitive ears gave Iris away, as there was no hiding her presence from the vigilant Augment.
“How was your day, mistress?” Khazmine asked without turning her head. The room felt empty without her beautiful music to fill it. “Was the launch successful?”
“We made it through another one.” Iris evaded the question, but Khazmine didn’t press her for details. “What were you playing just now?”
“It’s an old Earth tune.” Khazmine replied wistfully. “Amaranth used to play it for you as a child on one of those electronic music players. You know, the one with the plastic cartridges?”
“Oh yeah, that’s right.” Iris remembered fondly. “I had forgotten all about that. Something about ‘a heart full of joy and gladness...’ Darn, I wish I could remember the rest of it.”
“I would sing for you, but I am afraid it would sound discordant.” Khazmine admitted. Though her vocal cords could mimic a wide range of voices, her singing voice was more akin to dragging a metal rake through coarse gravel. “I could play it for you instead, if you prefer.”
“You know, it’s funny, but I didn’t know you could play an instrument.” Iris sat on the couch to admire the hand-carved bone flute in Khazmine’s bare hands. “Wait, how do you play this if you don’t breathe?”
“A fair question.” Khazmine smiled. “I confess that I do not require oxygen to function, yes. But I can store and deplete an internal reservoir of air. That’s why my voice sounds organic; deliberate trickery.”
Iris listened with rapt attention as Khazmine finished playing the jaunty tune. Her technical skill was impressive, but that wasn’t what drew a tear to Iris’s eye. Visions of the little ranch-style home and lavish greenhouse flooded in from a dormant place in Iris’s memory, causing her mind to wander back to those happier days in her distant past. She could smell the berries of summer and feel warm rays of sunshine pour through the rainclouds of her day.
“That was lovely, thanks, Khaz.” Iris wiped her face instinctively with the uncovered part of her injured hand. “Today’s been really awful, and I needed some cheering up.”
“Mistress? What happened to your hand?” Khazmine spotted the dressing on her injured roommate, set down her tiny flute, and stalked close to get a look at the injury. “It is well dressed, but inadvisable to have you cook tonight… We shall order Togo.”
“You mean, ‘to go,’ like takeaway?” Iris squinted quizzically to decipher what Khazmine had meant. “I’m afraid I don’t have any money for—”
“Immaterial. I have funds.” Khazmine produced a roll of single bills from her pants pocket and showed it off to Iris. “And before you ask, you can thank the tiny flute for this. Your downtown has a surprising population of music lovers.”
Iris couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea of Khazmine playing her little flute amid the other hustlers and buskers of the city. Khazmine smiled back at Iris, who was unguarded in her appreciation of the absurdity of a musical Augment, with her snorts and cackles filling the apartment. Tears welled up in her eyes once more, but this time they were from a fit of prolonged laughter, which Khazmine preferred over sorrow.
“I’ll have you know that I have other ways of earning an income, mistress...” Khazmine failed to conceal a ripple in her adaptive camouflage, as a wave of color rolled across her skin.
“But none as amusing as this, I’d wager.” Iris finally calmed her giggling.
Oh, you’d be surprised. Khazmine smirked to herself.
“Hey, Khaz?” Iris realized in the quiet comfort of the cavernous living room. “Where are Byxx and Zayzann?”
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