A knock on his cubicle wall woke Rich up from his mid-afternoon nap. His visitor clucked in mock disapproval and pretended to scold him. "Shame on you, Rich. Sleeping on the job. You're lucky it was only me knocking this time."
"Mmm," mumbled Rich, refusing to feel guilty. "It's not my fault. Look where they stuck my desk!" He indicated his work space with an encompassing sweep of his arm. "I'm not used to this."
His visitor felt no sympathy. On the contrary, she, like everyone else in the building, was pretty jealous.
Originally, Rich's cubicle had been down in the "low rent" area of the building in the heart of a fiendishly bewildering labyrinth of cubicle partitions. It had been the company's computer center, such as it was: shelves stacked to overflowing with manuals and software, a file server, a huge and noisy line printer, and almost as an afterthought, Rich.
Then, by a stupefyingly brilliant leap of illogic of the kind that only existed within large corporations and government offices, the entire floor plan of the building was redone, and the lowly computer guy Rich suddenly found himself on the penthouse floor in the space formerly occupied by the company's vice president. True, he was still in a cubicle instead of a real office, but his cubicle was at the corner of the building, so two of his walls were actually floor-to-ceiling windows!
On a clear day Rich could look west across the Los Angeles basin and see Catalina Island and the Pacific Palisades peninsula sparkling on the placid Pacific Ocean. North and east were the snow-covered peaks of the San Gabriel and San Jacinto Mountains, tinged blue with the distance. Sometimes, the distraction was more than Rich could resist, and he found himself staring out at the beautiful panorama, and then, inevitably, doze off.
But now, the mesmerizing view had snared his visitor. She stood just gazing, thoughts a million miles away.
Rich almost hated to interrupt, but the sooner he got rid of her, the sooner he could go back to sleep. "Um, Debbie?"
"Quit calling me that," said his visitor Donna.
"Okay, Denise," he said to Donna.
Donna smacked him in the head.
"So what did you want," asked Rich.
"Oh yeah. There's a couple of guys down by the receptionist who say they're friends of yours."
"Why didn't you call me on the phone?"
"I did, but I guess you couldn't hear the ringing over your snoring."
"Oh yeah. What were their names?"
"Dunno. They wouldn't say, but they're all dressed up in black suits and sunglasses." Having delivered her news, Donna started walking away. "You have weird friends, Rich," was the last thing heard as she wandered off.
Rich muttered an insincere thanks at her retreating back. He was stunned by the news. The email he'd gotten from Jo and the TV news story the other night had been pushed from the forefront of his mind by the everyday matters and responsibilities of work and life. But now there were two "Men In Black" down in the lobby of his work obviously here to get him, and the seriousness of the situation quickly asserted itself.
He thought frantically what to do. He knew it wouldn't be long before they came up here looking for him when it became obvious that he wasn't coming down to them. He had to get out of his cubicle, so he switched off all his computers, grabbed his personal CD player and car keys, cast one last lingering glance out the big windows, and made a dash for it.
No employees' heads were visible above the cubicle partitions, so Rich was free and clear. it's not like anyone would actually notice that he wasn't at his desk. The only problem was that the only way out of the building was through the main lobby where the men in black were -- there was no "back way" out.
He needed time to think, and he needed to get out of obvious sight. A door to his immediate right labeled "Men" offered the solution. He ducked into the restroom and made a quick check of the stalls. All were empty -- good.
He tried to come up with a plan. Maybe if he waited here long enough, they'd go away. No, that was dumb. They'd start a search of the building. Could he evade a search? Being the computer guy, he had access to a few tucked-away places where few others ever dared venture, but even those places would be checked during a thorough search.
He had it! He could crawl into the air ducts and avoid detection that way. The thorium in the ductwork would mask his life signs. No! He smacked himself in the head. That was what they'd do on Star Trek. Jeez. The line between reality and fiction had become alarmingly blurred.
Rich felt trapped. He'd give anything for a communicator right about now. Or better yet, a phaser! Yeah, then he'd show those guys!
And just as thoughts of beaming up were racing through his desperate mind, he felt a peculiar tingling sensation start to build throughout his entire body. The restroom around him dissolved into silvery static, like a badly tuned TV. There was a hum, and before he knew it, he was standing somewhere else entirely.
It looked like a transporter room! He looked around and saw a few officers standing behind a free-standing console. He tried to step forward, but was suddenly overcome by an intense wave of nausea. He doubled over and hurled on the floor.
One of the officers -- a young Vulcan in a blue uniform -- looked heavenward in silent supplication and said with typical Vulcan patience, "I'll get the mop again...."