Transitory

Chapter 9

Glasses chimed, voices stirred and the undeniable aroma of corporate people hit Nate as he entered the next realm: a pungent smell of aftershave, perfume and mouthwash, all mixed together. It was a recent memory, still easily accessed, and one that his sense of smell remembered well. Instantly he knew where and when he was, and knew exactly what to expect.

A vast and open hall with a high ceiling, two storeys or so above, appeared in front of him. Strip lights hung from metal support beams way above, while the floor was blackened by the many shadows cast by an uncomfortably dense crowd. Nate had to shove a woman out of his way just to find enough space to confer with his companion. He managed to find a place by a display cabinet with a small scale model of a competitors drilling rig inside.

“OK, now this I remember well,” Nate said. He held L'Armin’s upper arm to keep him close. “This was the big mining convention on Earth, only about Six months ago.”

“It is not a coincidence, Nathan. The Beings intend for you to learn something important. Can you recall where you should be?”

Nate stood on his toes, stretching the arches of his feet as far as he could, just to see above the crowd. The height he gained was barely enough to be considered an advantage, but something did catch his eye. He lowered back down and turned to L'Armin.

“Come on, this way,” he said.

They pushed their way through the shifting crowds and made a beeline for a makeshift bar to the side of the hall. He cut in where other’s slowed, elbowed indiscriminate people out of his way and tried his best not to become boxed in by suddenly forming groups. The closer he got to the rudimentary bar—just a set of raised tables serving drinks—the better he could see who it was he’d spotted.

From a distance the man had a clean cut appearance, similar to what he was like now. Up close, however, it was clear he was anything but, with two days old stubble and greasy skin that darkened his complexion. More importantly his clothes carried the distinct aroma of alcohol. Either he had spilt his drink or the fumes had soaked in over time. For whatever reason, he stank of booze and those nearby were fully aware. He stood at the bar and ordered a drink. Nate hoped it would be an orange or a water.

“Vodka, straight,” Cameron snapped at the smiling, twenty something girl tending bar. She wore a loosely buttoned shirt and a waistcoat that clung tightly to her busty figure. An enticing trap, Nate thought, typical for a corporate gathering full of middle aged men.

Cameron on the other hand hadn’t even noticed the woman. She was simply a drinks dispenser to him. A heavy emotional weight appeared to be pressing down on him from all sides and nothing was distracting him from it. Whatever it was, it had caused him to slowly sink into himself. He was resorting to alcohol to pick himself up again.

“He looks like shit,” Nate said.

The girl delivered Cameron’s drink, though with much less of a smile this time. He immediately poured it down his throat, giving the liquid barely enough time to touch his lips as it travelled from glass to mouth. As soon as it slid past his tongue, his back straightened suddenly before it once again returned to its default slumped position.

For a tiny moment Nate could see the weight had been lifted. Although the forlorn expression that remained on Cameron's face, suggested it would require much more than one drink to release him from whatever troubled him.

The woman tending bar watched as Cameron made the contents of his glass magically vanish. Her smile had now completely disappeared, along with the vodka. She didn't look away until someone more cheerful appeared behind, waiting to be served.

“What can I get you, sir,” she said. Her smile reappeared like a sunbeam through dark clouds.

Nate barely had time to turn and see who she was talking to, before the man replied.