The Bending Empire

The printer malfunctioning should have been the first sign that things were not going to be smooth today. Gears were whirring, buttons alight, and yet, that list for the alderman simply wasn’t making its appearance in the paper tray.

“‘Scuse me!” Jox ran past to grab a stray file dangling out of the cabinet. “Boss wants the reports in, like, right now, Cas!”

“Thanks.” As if I wasn’t already doing what I could at the moment. “Hey, any chance–”

But Jox was already gone.

“–you know how to fix a printer?” The words trailed off, thrown to empty air. Well, whatever, it was hopeless anyway.

Starting this job two years ago had been promising. The alderman made it sound good: do the work that’s expected, and within six months, employees could expect to have their permanent residencies in hand. Only, there had always been a catch. The first time, the Inter-Species Affairs Office apologized profusely and said it was a genuine mistake on their part. The name Casín Sera Ven Parsu Nosh Gamblorodogh had a few too many spaces and characters in it for the system to register me properly.

“How about we cut it down a bit for the next batch we go through, hmm?” the lady at the front desk had asked with that bright, faux smile.

“Alright.”

She took out a red pen and looked at the name I’d written down. “Hmm, let’s see. How about we take out these ones? Casín Sera Gamblorodogh, how does that sound? Or maybe Casín Sera Venparsunosh. Well, what do you think?”

Neither worked. The first cut out the three trees our family had their roots in, and the second severed our homeland from the trees. But if citizenship here was the goal, then perhaps the homeland could be stripped.

“Venparsunosh works,” I told her.

“Excellent,” she said with another beaming smile, and from then on, official papers had me as Venparsunosh, Casín S. Gamblorodogh was forgotten, but at least another six more months would bring with it the golden ticket.

Except that it hadn’t. The new girl at the desk wore a nametag, Hatta, and brighter teeth than the lady before her.

“Sorry,” she apologized, batting fake eyelashes that matched her rueful look. “‘Nymph’ isn’t a code in our system. Could we put you under the label ‘elf’ for our next batch?”

“Umm,” I hesitated. Pretending to be a different creature was against the law. But it wasn’t like ISAO could tell the difference. Besides, ‘elf’ had been a vague category to begin with. “Sure, I guess that works.”

“Excellent,” she said, typing away at her keyboard. “Alright, you’re all set. See you in six months!”

Six months later, the office declared that they were out of permanent residency cards for ‘others.’

“Sorry, ma’am,” the fresh young man in a dress shirt and tie had said. This time, at least, he seemed genuine. “They told us last week they didn’t have any more cards available for a full three years.”

“Three years?”

He shrugged, looking up. “I don’t know the details, but the alderman made the decision–you’d have to file a complaint with him if you want a concern addressed.”

I tried. After one board meeting I went up to ask him about the cards.

“Sir, Mr. Pruse, I mean. I have a question about the residency cards.”

He was reading a file one of his interns had just handed him. “Yes, what is it, Ms. Venparsunosh?”

“Well, as you may already know, I filed a year and a half ago for a permanent residency card, and I just went to get it yesterday but they said they ran out.”

Mr. Pruse looked up. “Why didn’t you file for one in the first six months of working, Ms. Venparsunosh?”

“Well, I did, but there was a problem with the system, and then six months ago there was another problem and they couldn’t get the card then either.”

The alderman sighed, crossing his legs and leaning back. “And you want me to get you a card now, I take it?”

I nodded.

He turned and looked out the window. “The politics have gotten quite messy, Cas. We had to limit the cards because non-humans are coming close to making up a third of our population. People are getting antsy. I can extend your temporary card to five years, contingent on you staying to work with us. But I am sorry, a permanent card will have to wait. If I make an exception now, the city council will be breathing down my neck.”

He turned away from the window and went back to the file. “Please close the door on your way out, Ms. Venparsunosh.”

And with that, the pathway to citizenship was shut.

So now here I was, working at the same place a full six months after the promise was broken. I knew when it was time to say goodbye. As grand of an idea like becoming a citizen in Nuseo had been, the luck had run out. My lease was up in less than a month, which made it the perfect time to leave. If the printer would just work, then maybe I could at least have some closure on the job with this last report for the alderman.

“Ms. Venparsy!” I turned to see Ilda Hobber walking down the hall. “Ms. Venparsy, we’re waiting for you! Alderman Pruse wants those reports in now, mind you!”

I nodded to my problem. “The printer’s not working.”

“Oh, let me see it.” The press secretary was her usual proper self, dressed in a business suit and skirt. She pulled the stack of briefings she was carrying to one side, and began clicking away at the printer screen. “There. You just have to override a few settings to stop the glitches.”

Sure enough, the whirring sounds increased, and out popped the list I was waiting for to finish off the report. “Thanks.”

She leaned over. “We’ll go in together. It looks better if we’re both late. Besides, if they ask, I was helping you prep the last part of your report. Printer malfunctioning sounds too lame. The alderman’s heard that one a few too many times, and all from interns. We don’t stoop that low, do we?”

The question sounded rhetorical and seemed a bit pointless. We began walking side-by-side to the meeting room. When we made it to the door, Ilda turned back to me with a sharp look. “The answer, Ms. Venparsy, is that we don’t.”

She turned the knob, and we entered into mayhem.

Never had a morning meant for reports looked so dramatic. Jox Lossi was standing on the table, pointing a finger and yelling at one of the interns sitting plastered in his chair. Plume Farr was across from him, on a chair and not the table, looking like he was practicing his surfing skills. The second intern, who had somehow managed to evade Jox, was by the espresso machine, pretending to pour more coffee into an already-filled cup. She had a forgettable name, something like Vee or Bea. I moved over to her.

“What happened?” I whispered.

“The alderman came in ten minutes ago and said he wants all reports trashed. We’re starting over, he’s assigning us to community cases to ‘build trust and teamwork,’” she whispered back. “Please don’t send me with Jox. I can’t stand him.”

So much for putting in a two week’s notice immediately after the reports meeting. By the state of things, it would have to wait until tomorrow.

“Alright.”

It was then that Jox noticed us standing in the corner.

“And where have you been?” he asked, whirling around. “Pretending to be busy to avoid getting chewed out by Pruse?”

Ilda stepped forward. “Cas and I were busy prepping for the community case assignments, Jox. Sorry to have left you out of the know on this one.”

She was smooth, too smooth. Even so, it seemed unlike that Jox would fall for it, especially given that Ilda tended to repeat everything he said. But the chance to study their interaction was interrupted.

“Excuse me?” The third and final intern, a pale and scrawny thing, raised his hand. “Can someone explain why the alderman doesn’t want these reports that we’ve been working on for months?”

The most obvious answer was that something had happened with the city council, but I wasn’t going to be the one to say it. The city council seemed to be blamed for everything these days.

“We’ll get back to you on that when we’ve checked with Alderman Pruse on what we can say,” Ilda replied, bringing her press secretary tone out in full force. “Meanwhile, I’m here to tell you your assignments. Jox, you’re with–”

“Oh no you don’t.” Plume was now standing on two chairs, using them to slide around the corner of the table. He waved a paper in the air. “Pruse just gave me the assignments on his way out.”

Jox moved first, Ilda close behind him. They lunged for Plume, who leaned too far back and–thud!–hit the ground hard. The paper landed next to him, and the scrawny intern reached for it.

“Jox, you’re with Kiji, I’m with Plume. Bee,” he read, “you, Ilda, and Cas are together.”

Kiji groaned and Jox glared at him.

Ilda huffed. “What are the assignments?”

“Kiji and Jox are investigating a complaint from a tenant on the Southside. Troll in the alley, it sounds like. Me and Plume are responding to a cat lady who threatens to sue ISAO for not filing her disability. Ilda, Cas, and Bee: you guys are addressing a complaint from the elves about their festival restrictions.”

Kiji groaned again. “Since when is the Southside our responsibility?”

“Since the mayor and Pruse have been friends,” Jox replied. “Besides, we all know Yano doesn’t do his job down there. Might as well take on the work if everything we’ve been doing since the spring doesn’t count anymore anyway.”

It was settled. The investigation of the community complaints began.