The following Monday, Ralph was so absorbed perusing the professional men's section of a department store catalog (that he had picked up with while he was out over the weekend and not noticing the large bell-shaped man in a full-length fur coat and tall fur hunting cap wearing large, dark sunglasses over a prosthetic nose and fake-looking mustache on an unseasonably warm weekend) that he didn't notice the large bell-shaped man in a full-length fur coat and tall fur hunting cap while wearing large, dark sunglasses over a prosthetic nose and fake-looking mustache following him off of the bus on his walk to the mostly empty industrial area where his job was, all the while speaking a strange foreign language into the sleeve of his full-length fur coat. What Ralph did notice was that peak lapels on suit jackets were becoming more fashionable this season.
It was that following Wednesday when Ralph was made explicitly aware of his status as a military man in no uncertain terms, and in a drastic fashion under distressing circumstances.
On that fated Wednesday morning, Ralph entered the observation lab as normal, noting the uniformly pale robin's-egg-blue, the large potted plant in the far corner, the large table pushed against one wall, the observation window with scientists and generals (the former with their ubiquitous clip boards, the latter with their emblematic medals and severe haircuts, both with trademark furrowed brows and frowns), and Ralph's soldier co-worker in the center of the room, crouched down into a ball with his back to Ralph and his hands covering his face. Up to this point, all in a day’s work.
"Mr. Beesal. Do you see anyone else in the room with you?"
"Yes. He's crouched down right there," he replied, pointing down at his counterpart. The usual furious scribbling by the scientists followed, along with the expected dour expressions and significant eye contact exchanged between the generals. Then came the familiar crackling static through the speakers.
"Thank you, Mr. Beesal. Please have a -"
A klaxon siren burst into life, a red strobe light flared at even intervals, bathing everything in a hellish contrast. Ralph's heart jumped up into his throat and his body reacted like a rabbit caught in a snare. He looked to the observation window and saw the scientists snatching up recording devices, strange looking machinery, multiple armfuls of arms-length paper readouts, and desk lamps in a panic.
The generals had all drawn their weapons and were directing their focused attention to the boss general as he made sharp gestures and barked orders that Ralph could not hear. As the general paused between outbursts, individual generals peeled away and out of the room after each gesture. Within seconds the observation room was empty, save for the boss general, who glared at Ralph for a few seconds before marching out of the room.
Ralph was frozen from shock, his flight response echoing the scream of the klaxon alarm, but inexperience rooting him to the spot, his heart jack-hammering in his chest. The observation window became completely opaque, which he did not know it could do, and suddenly he felt like he was trapped in a submarine, miles below the ocean's surface. He broke into a claustrophobic sweat. He needed someone to tell him what to do. He looked to his soldier co-worker, but he hadn't moved from his crouched position. His back was still to Ralph, seemingly indifferent to the siren and flashing lights of the alarm.
Ralph nearly leapt out of his skin when the door burst open. One of the mini-generals stood in the doorway with futuristic looking night vision goggles obscuring most of his face. Behind him Ralph could see into the hallway and through the far door that opened into the lobby beyond, where people Ralph had never seen, mostly soldiers and other professionally dressed people, were crisscrossing the lobby with determined strides.
"Private Miller," barked the begoggled general and Ralph yelped with surprise as suddenly he felt the presence of his, until now nameless, co-worker standing literally right next to him. Ralph hadn't even sensed any movement. It was as if Private Miller had simply snapped into existence, standing at attention. Ralph was also surprised because Private Miller was completely nude.
Ralph looked back to the center of the room expecting to see a pile of inexplicably articles of discarded uniform, but there, still crouched down with his back to Ralph and his hands covering his face, was Ralph's co-worker, Private Miller. Before he could wrap his mind around the impossibility of a person existing in two places simultaneously, the begoggled general continued.
"Epsilon Protocol, effective immediately!" barked the mini-general.
''Epsilon Protocol acknowledged, Exalted!" repeated Private Miller with practiced intensity.
"The burden of judgment is unjust," began the mini-general with the air of rote gospel.
“To be unburdened, be unobservable, Exalted!" Private Miller finished reflexively.
The two exchanged salutes and Private Miller set off at a jog down the hallway, stark naked with a previously unseen pistol held at ready. He appeared hazy and difficult to look at, and not out of any sense of modesty on the part of Ralph. It was as if his eyes kept slipping off of him, like water off a duck's back.
“Observer Class Private Beesal!" continued the begoggled mini-general.
Ralph's head was spinning and the mini-general had to snap his fingers in Ralph's face several times before he could focus on the man and what he was saying.
"Put this on, Private Beesal!" he said, handing Ralph a high visibility vest, the words 'Observer Class' across the back with some alien-looking symbols below the English type.
Ralph did as he was told and looked at the pistol being handed to him, the handle grip facing him.
"Take this," said the general, looking back over his shoulder down the empty hall.
Ralph took the proffered pistol. It was heavier than he had thought it would be and he nearly dropped it. The mini-general turned back to Ralph with a serious expression on his begoggled face.
"If you don't see anyone walk through this door, you open fire immediately. Understood, Private Beesal?"
Ralph suddenly thought of the thesaurus he had returned to the library.
"Correct," he said in a daze.
The mini-general stared at Ralph in begoggled confusion for two seconds before turning around and exiting the room, closing the door behind him. Once again, Ralph was alone in the room with the still crouched down Private Miller.
He stood where he was, alternating between looking in terror at the door and looking in terror at the crouched down Private Miller. Even with the flashing red light, Ralph could see the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed, couldn't he? He would periodically forget that he was holding a pistol down at his side, and when he became conscious of its weight, he brought it up to the ready position before ultimately becoming overwhelmed with confusion and fear and letting his arms fall to his side only to repeat the process.
After an indeterminable amount of time (minutes? hours?), the klaxon siren ceased and then the lights stopped rapidly pulsing a moment later. Ralph blinked forcefully, as if he were regaining consciousness. The observation window was no longer opaque, but transparent once more. On the other side of the window was one of the generals staring at Ralph.
Ralph recognized him as the general who had stared at him on that first day and most days since. Ralph got the impression that this general had been staring at him for a while before he had noticed just now.
There came a knock at the door and a voice, Ralph recognized it as belonging to the mini-general with the futuristic night vision goggles, announced that he was going to enter, which he then did.
“Private Beesal. I'll take that," said the mini-general, taking back the heavy pistol from Ralph as he gave further instruction. "As an Observer Class soldier, you are needed in the lobby. Private Miller?"
"Yes, Exalted," replied a fully uniformed Private Miller who had suddenly appeared next to Ralph. Ralph's heart skipped several beats at his appearance. Ralph looked back to the center of the room that was, for the first time since he entered the room today, unoccupied. Ralph felt very much like crying.
"Epsilon Protocol suspended. Raspberry Protocol, effective immediately."
"Yes, Exalted," replied Private Miller who then exited the room at the pace and manner Ralph had associated with a Bride's wedding march.
"Shall we, Private Beesal?" asked the mini-general, smiling brightly.
Ralph nodded and the two of them followed Private Miller as he step-match-paused down the hall towards the lobby. As they followed at a leisurely pace, the general spoke casually at Ralph.
"Exciting day, isn't it?" said the general with a manic grin and begoggled agog. Ralph hadn't noticed before that the mini-general had specks of splashed blood across his face. "I've always enjoyed watching you work. Very professional."
"Thank you," said Ralph.
"Not to be telling tales out of school, but at first I had my doubts about the whole arrangement," said the mini-general. "Happy to say I've since changed my tune, though."
“What arrangement?" asked Ralph, nerves bringing an unintended waver to his voice. The mini-general continued as if he hadn't heard Ralph or intentionally chose to ignore him.
"Of course, who wouldn’t, considering the alternative, right, soldier?" he said, slapping Ralph on the back in a fraternal gesture. They had reached the end of the hall that opened into the lobby and had stopped just short of the open door. "Only flim-flammers and religious types benefit from the full-on collapse of society. And that’s not for us professional types, am I right, Private Beesal?"
The general didn't wait for Ralph to respond, not that he knew how to respond anyway. The begoggled general gestured for Ralph to cross the threshold into the lobby, which, since he was a good soldier, he did. The general followed.
In the lobby, arms held forcefully apart by two struggling soldiers, was the large, bell-shaped man in a full-length fur coat with a tall fur hunting cap on his head. The dark sunglasses with prosthetic nose lay broken on the floor. One of the man's eyes was swollen shut and blood ran from his scalp and down the center of his forehead, along one side of his real nose and into his quite-real-as-it-turns-out mustache. Ralph had never seen this strange man before in his life.
The man was currently straining against the grip of the two soldiers and vehemently arguing with the boss general, both of them speaking in a language Ralph had never heard before. Occasionally this clipped, sibilant language would include the English word “Arrangement” and Ralph got the impression of a capital A in the word. The man spoke the English word in a stilted manner and spoke the sibilant language fluidly, the boss general vice-versa.
The boss general saw Ralph enter and made an abrupt downwards-slashing gesture and they ceased arguing. The boss general swept a hand backwards through his short, silvered hair in a long-suffering manner and cleared his throat. Standing up to his full height in a practiced military manner, which Ralph reflexively copied, the boss general spoke to Ralph directly in his usual no-nonsense tone.
"Mr. Beesal. Do you see anyone else in this room with you?”
The familiarity of the question warred with the unsettling novelty of the situation, creating hesitation in Ralph. He looked next to him to the surprisingly amiable begoggled mini-general who grinned and nodded in support.
"Yes," said Ralph in a forced exhale before repeating in a more strident tone, "Yes."
There were multiple exchanged glances between all in the room, all pregnant with a significance that eluded Ralph.
"How many people do you see in this room, Mr. Beesal?'
The unexpected follow up question sent Ralph reeling. He even staggered on his feet; the shock was so great. Thankfully, the begoggled general reached out and steadied Ralph with both hands.
"Are you able to answer the question, Mr. Beesal?"
Sweating profusely once more, Ralph looked about the room in wild-eyed panic, counting everyone besides himself. He counted a second time, then a third. There were the two soldiers holding the large, bell-shaped man in a full-length fur coat. There were two monochromatic scientists to one side of the room, scribbling on their clipboards furiously. Private Miller stood on the opposite side of the room across from the scientists, fully clothed. There was the grinning, begoggled mini-general next to him and, finally, the boss general in front of him.
Eight people. No matter how many times he counted, the answer was always eight people. That had to be the correct answer, hadn't it? All eyes, minus one swollen shut eye of the large, bell-shaped man in a full-length fur coat, and plus one manic smile from the begoggled mini-general, were on Ralph, waiting for his answer.
"Eight," he said, swallowing hard. "I see eight people."
The large, bell-shaped man in a full-length fur coat and tall, fur hunting cap began laughing, a low chuckle at first that built into loud guffaws. Ralph, the generals, the scientists, and the soldiers all stared in confusion. Then, impossibly, a second pair of arms burst through the man's belly and the man roared with painful laughter. The additional hands undid the buttons of the full-length fur coat and as the man visibly sagged between the two soldiers holding his arms, a previously unseen man, with long legs and an incredibly truncated torso strode out from the curtains of the full-length fur coat, proud as a peacock. The laughing man's tiny torso and little legs dangled in the now empty space of the full-length fur coat.
There was an explosion of disbelief and arguing both in English and the unknown-to-Ralph language. It was a cacophony of noise, throwing of clip boards, and wild gestures. Ralph rushed to one corner of the room and vomited onto the shards of his perception of reality. He turned back towards the surreal scene. He once again only understood the repeated use of the English word “Arrangement.” The boss general turned away in disgust and gestured for the soldiers to release the tiny man, who once more sat on the shoulders of the unseen man with the long legs and truncated torso, not bothering to redo the buttons of the full-length fur coat.
The two men strode purposefully, or rather, the one man, strode purposefully down the hall towards the elevator and pressed the call button.
Just as the doors were closing, before obscuring him from view entirely, the man with the swollen-shut eye and real mustache called down the hall to Ralph in very stilted English.
"Thank you for your service, Mr. Beesal!"
Ralph stared at the closed elevator doors, barely registering the harsh words and orders being issued behind him. It was only when he heard a door slam that he turned to see that the scientists, soldiers, and boss-general had left the lobby, leaving only the begoggled mini-general smiling sadly at Ralph.
"Don't blame yourself, soldier. It's a damned cartoon dimension they got over there. Don't hardly make sense. Very unprofessional," sighed the mini-general before brightly adding, "But any day where the full-on collapse of society doesn't happen is a good day! Report back here at 0900 hours tomorrow. Thank you for your service and all," he added, almost as an afterthought.
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