AUgust 15 Secretly Alien (Lara Nara, Locksmith)

a/n: I apologize for this one. A character from a book series by Phyllis Gotlieb is living in NLA, and now it is Lara Nara's problem.

Lara Nara wasn't sure what finally drew his attention to the individual standing just outside the Mediator's tent. One moment Nara had been enjoying his coffee and contemplating the smiling model on the wall calendar. The next moment he realized that a stranger had repeatedly called his name. It was that final word that must have done it.

"Please." It was more of a statement than a request, different enough to catch his attention. Everything else had gone ignored, but the person had finally spoken loud enough to break the calm of Nara's day.

Nara focused on the speaker, uncertain on the proper approach. They were short, stooped from age or timidity, wearing a plain worker coverall in a grey that matched their skin and hair and eyes. Nara didn't dare act too hearty, since this person looked like they were ready to tip over at the slightest shock. Neither was obsequious politeness the right approach, even if Nara was in the mood; everything about their appearance screamed unimportant. Flirting had never been in question. It was curious, but Nara was finding it difficult to pay attention to the inconsequential visitor. Their hair swung at chin length as they made a small bow. "Are you Mr. Lara? May I come in?" asked the weird little guy.

Nara chided himself for being so judgemental about the client. He shook his head in dismay, then corrected his mistake by gesturing for the perfectly normal citizen to enter the Mediator's tent. "I'm Lara, yes, and you are-?"

"Smith," they said in dry voice.

"Just 'Smith'?" Nara wished he could raise a single eyebrow to signify doubt. "Look, honey, if you don't want to tell me, I'm not going to press you."

The ghost of an impish smile flashed on Smith's narrow face. "It really is. It suits me, I suppose, and it matches my job."

"You're telling me you forge swords, big boy?" said Nara.

"No, no," said Smith, again letting a small smile flash past before fading into somber seriousness. "I'm a locksmith. Doors and key-codes and things like that."

"I didn't know our city had one."

"It's not a large business," Smith said. "Almost a hobby. Changing locks after a breakup, maybe positioning security cameras on storage rooms."

"Sounds like something we Mediators should be interested in. It might help us nip trouble in the bud."

"Not necessary," said Smith almost firmly. Their voice faded back to crinkling weakness. "Most people just want a little help encouraging other people to mind their own business. Mostly small things." He stood silently, fading into the shadows.

"But here you are," prompted Nara eventually.

"Yes. You see, usually I leave larger requests alone. I don't go outside the city." Their hand fluttered up and down to distinguish their small frame. "Do I really look like I'd do well outside New Los Angeles?"

It must have been a trick of the light, but their hand seemed transparent. Their hair flickered a little brighter. Had Smith's chin always been stubbled like that? Somehow Nara felt that being clean shaven would suit them better. No, after a second glance, their chin was smooth and retiring. A sudden thought struck Nara. He reached for Smith's hand.

The smaller human recoiled, taking a tiny step back, reinforcing Nara's suspicion. Nara reached for him again. "I need to test you're not a Definian. Direct touch is the easy way to prove it; if you don't transform back, we know you're one of us. Or you could 'fess up right now. I won't judge."

"Ah," said Smith, coughing up a tiny laugh. "Of course. That's a wise policy. I assure I'm not one of them, although I can understand the suspicion. Very well." Smith seemed to gather their courage before thrusting their hand at Mara.

Nara shook the offered hand carefully. As promised, Smith didn't transform into a buxom alien. The dry skin seemed to float lightly over insubstantial flesh. Nara avoided squeezing it; he was sure Smith's bones would snap under event the slightest pressure. Smith pulled back their hand the moment Nara released it, cradling against their body for a moment before letting it drop.

"So how can the Mediators help you, Citizen Smith?" Nara said politely.

"As I said," Smith began, "I avoid more complicated jobs. Locked apartments, yes. Containers in Noctilum scheduled for recovery by Reclaimers at the end of the week, no."

"That seems highly specific."

"People are understanding of my limitations. In fact, most don't even stay to hear my apology." Nara could believe that, once again finding it difficult to pay attention to this retiring scrap of a person. Smith continued. "Recently, a client has become ... obsessed may be too intense a word, but he won't take no for an answer. He insists on my presence in Lower Noctilum. Tonight. 2200."

Nara felt his hand twitch and to his surprise found a scrap of paper in his fist. He hadn't noticed Smith passing it to him, but there it was, as small and dry as Smith's handshake. A few spidery numbers were scribbled on it. "What do you want us to do?"

"I won't be going, obviously. I won't be anywhere if I can help it, for a few weeks at least," Smith added cryptically. "But if you were to wait there, you might explain it to my client."

"They'll notice it wasn't you."

Smith eyed Nara's solidly gorgeous form. "Maybe you could bring someone more my height and size to wait there? People don't pay much attention to me, so they might not notice at first."

Nara took a moment to inspect the note. Today's date, the proper time, coordinates that indeed would land a team in Noctilum. "Are you worried your clients might not appreciate you working with the Mediators?" He looked up. He was talking to air.

[one day later]

"Today in Frontier Nav News! Red Pollen Orb Ring Busted, Two Humans in Custody.
An ongoing investigation by the Mediators, led by Lara Nara, was successful in the recovery of two human shipping containers filled with banned substances. Nopon authorities praised the work of the team. In a statement, Lara emphasized the long and careful process, tracking leads and ..."

The Locksmith closed their comm device and settled into their nest. They breathed out a mist that matched the gel in the moat below the city and allowed their body to rest with greater security. The Locksmith hadn't planned on this forced vacation, but it certainly beat the alternative of being co-opted by common gangsters.

a/n: The Locksmith is a minor character in "Emperor, Swords, Pentacles" by Phyllis Gotlieb. The Locksmith is a telepathic shape-shifting stowaway and minor criminal. I love him so so so much, okay? He wanders around, looking for a little help, which results in saving several planets as a side effect. He reforms and gets several alien spider babies as his new duty. I switched to they/them because it felt more accurate, but maybe he has other ideas.

Next up: It HAS to be shorter. Hobby drama. Oh no, I have opinions.