Galathel’s hand shot up to his back again, feeling the unfamiliar absence.
“Ticket holder number twelve, please approach the front desk,” an authoritative voice called.
Galathel jumped in his seat and fumbled to unfold his ticket stub once more, even though he knew his number, and there was no one else left in the waiting room.
He couldn’t say how long he’d been there, but between the spurts of classical music that cut out every few seconds, the freezing cold emanating from an overzealous AC unit, and the abundance of stains covering the once-white walls, it hadn’t been pleasant. Nevertheless, Galathel stood, tucked his spotless shirt into his slacks again, and stepped forward, ticket in hand.
As he rounded the corner and came into view of the front desk, he walked directly below a vent of freezing air, and, in spite of himself, he felt his hand rise to touch his back one more time. The human woman behind the desk looked up at him through a pair of plastic-rimmed glasses and shook her head as he approached.
“Number?” She asked in the same authoritative voice that had sounded through the speaker a second ago.
“Twelve,” Galathel answered with a little smile, laying the ticket stub on the counter.
“You should stop massaging your back so much,” the woman commented as she grabbed the ticket without looking up, “it makes them nervous.”
“What?” Galathel asked.
“Your back. Unless it’s an intentional part of your cover, most humans don’t show that level of interest in their shoulder blade area,” the woman replied.
“I beg your pardon, but aren’t you a human?”
“Please, you’re on the doorstep of humanity, but you’re not among them yet. I may look like one of them in order to get you adjusted, but I know what it’s like to not be able to feel your wings all of a sudden. It’s not just the lightness, it’s the cold.”
Galathel caught himself nodding at the description unconsciously. He tried to extend a hand to the woman behind the desk.
“I am Galathel, it is a blessing to-”
“Errr, wrong,” the woman said, cutting him off rudely. “First, just because you know what a handshake is doesn’t make this the time for one. Second, humans don’t generally go by names like Galathel; and even if you could pull it off, a name like that would only cause you more trouble than it’s worth. Here’s your file. Your new name is Spencer, though if you’d like to make changes based on where you’re being deployed we have a few minutes left to do so.”
Galathel, now Spencer, carefully picked up the paper that was handed to him, and looked it over for several long moments with rising confusion.
“Is this really the information that humans care about? Is this what they will want to know about me?” he finally asked.
“Look, I get that you have to understand a fair amount about humans at an academic level in order to get this job. But this isn’t about theory anymore. You’re about to experience a whole new world filled with stimulation, pain, grime, love, and confusion. We’ve made you look like one of them on the outside, but on the inside you will still be a stranger. You will encounter unkindness and injustice in ways that you could never comprehend until you felt it through their skin. It will hurt you, and it will shake you, no matter what you think you know. And that’s just the baseline. That’s what it is to be alive on planet Earth.”
Galathel was surprised to look back down and see how much the paper had creased in his hands. Perhaps it was in proportion to how much his heart rate had risen? His back seemed colder than ever, and yet he thought that his forehead was sweating. He opened his mouth to respond but wasn’t sure what to say.
Reading his reaction, the woman behind the counter rubbed the area behind her glasses with the tips of her fingers and let out a sigh.
“You’re one of the sensitive ones, aren’t you? A real greenhorn.” She glanced at one of the papers on the desk in front of her and grimaced. “You’re going to have a rough time with this deployment.”
Galathel took a step backward, trying to loosen the tie he wore which suddenly seemed much tighter. The woman in front of him stopped rubbing her eyes, looked up from the paper, and shifted her full attention onto the uncertain angel in front of her.
“There’s a lot to say, Spencer, and not much time to say it, because that’s another thing you need to learn: humans care a lot about time. But let me ask you something by way of encouragement.”
“Please,” Galathel said, licking his dry lips.
“Do you know why we make you stop by this office before sending you to Earth?”
“Of course, it’s to make sure that all my paperwork is in order before I am deployed.”
“Sure, but given who we’re working for, do you really think that requires an office? Let me rephrase my question: why do you think we send disguised angels to wait in a building with sporadic music, bad temperature control, stains on the walls, and, let’s face it, a nameless grumpy lady working behind the front desk?”
Galathel was about to try and say something polite, but the woman cut him off again.
“Don’t patronize me. I act this way for a reason.”
“Is it a… test, then? A warning maybe?” Galathel queried.
“A warning of what?”
“That Earth won’t be easy.”
The woman gave a considering nod before responding.
“That’s a decent half-answer. Yes, a mildly irritating waiting room experience is hardly the worst that Earth has to offer, but it’s a gentle introduction to inconvenience. To the feeling of waiting helplessly for a system that doesn’t seem to care about you. That, sadly, is the state where many humans live a considerable part of their lives.”
“That’s terrible!” Galathel exclaimed, concern written across features that did not yet know how to lie.
“It is,” the woman agreed, “and if you’re going to live among them, then it’s important that you have even a taste of what it feels like.”
“But what am I supposed to do with this experience? I have to stick to the scope of my mission, and I can’t change human systems on my own. I can’t interfere with their ability to choose.”
“No, but that’s sort of the point,” the woman leaned closer toward Galathel and her eyes gestured at something behind him.
Galathel turned around slowly, and found himself staring at a large, framed poster. It was hung in an alcove in such a way that someone in a hurry probably wouldn’t notice it. Unlike the stained walls around it, the image was clean, and crystal clear. Its bright surface depicted humans from all across their world standing shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm, with broad smiles on their faces. Somehow, they all wore a type of smile that could be recognized instantly, and that was impossible to fake. Underneath the image were written the simple words:
“THEIRS TO CHOOSE.”
As Galathel took in the vividness of the picture, the woman behind the counter spoke up again.
“You can’t magically change their world for them, and you can’t force their decisions. The best you can do is to help them see a better path and do your best to guide them toward it. The details vary, but that is your mission…. So, are you ready? Your time is almost up.”
Galathel turned toward her again, his back no longer cold, and his paper firmly clenched in his human hand.
“I am.”
“Good. In spite of everything, I think you are too.” In an instant, the woman’s posture straightened, and her voice returned to its previous authoritative cadence. “Please proceed down the hall to my left, until you find the door that is marked with your assignment. Present your file to the guard at the door and he will open it for you. Remember, this is a one-way portal to planet Earth. Once you walk through it, you won’t be able to come back here the same way.”
Galathel nodded, and, moments later, with the door guard’s blessing, a man named Spencer took his first steps on planet Earth.