The Clock Winked (The Sagittan Chronicles Book 2) (2 page)

Bronwyn's laugh followed Auvek into the piles of literature.

*****

Quin watched the world fly by as the train sped through the
countryside. Tall trees rose up from embankments, and tickled the glow of the
rising sun. The death of Administrative Chair Aderick had sent the Globe into a
flurry of activity, preparing their paperwork and policies for the new Chair, a
process which subsequently required his trip back to the city from his post on
the Outer Rim. Quin sighed as the train slowed again, stopping before reaching
the town. The rioting in each of the cities along the Salt River had added
hours of waiting onto his trip. In each town, protesting organizations either
violently destroyed parts of the track or staged lie-downs, in which they laid
down on the tracks to halt the train.

His phone rang.

“Quin,” he answered.

“Where are you? You’re late! You were supposed to be here
three hours ago!” Mr. Drake’s furious voice boomed through the earpiece.

“Rioting is making my train late.”

“I don’t care. Get here or you’re fired!” Mr. Drake slammed down
the phone.

Scowling, Quin leaned back in his seat and waited.

Three hours later, he strode into the Globe with an
irritated expression on his face. He nodded stiffly to the cordial front-desk
secretary, who had a dozen earrings in each ear and chipped black paint
decorating his fingernails.

“Weather upstairs?”
Quin asked.

“A massive tempest,” the secretary replied, scratching his
ear. “Mr. Drake is in quite a rage.”

“Thanks.”

The lift rose to the 30th floor. The door slowly slid open
and Quin stepped out, straight into the middle of an argument.

“No!” John exclaimed. “They're students. They have to sleep!
I will not make them work a third overnight shift! This crisis isn't so great
that we should sacrifice our minions! My minions are important to me! I love
them!”

“John!” Mr. Drake boomed. “You are treading awfully close to
insubordination. If I give you an order, you obey!”

“Incorrect. If you give me an order regarding a project, I
obey. This is not a project!” John stamped his foot.

“If you are unwilling
to be an active part of this organization then you can pack your desk and
leave!” Mr. Drake turned his back on John and stomped down the hall.

“You stamped your foot,” Quin pointed out.

“Yeah,” John shrugged and grinned. “It was for emphasis.
EM-PHA-SIS.”

“I guess you're
fired,” Quin said.

John chuckled. “Drake couldn't fire me if he had to eat his
own propaganda. It took you long enough to get here.”

“The train passes every Salt River town that rioted.”

“Ah.”

Quin and John began to walk down the hall. Brightly coloured
fish were painted abstractly, then neatly, then realistically, then digitally,
slowly becoming more and more realistic until the wall turned into a floor to
ceiling fish tank, where the brightly coloured live fish swam happily in
circles, blowing bubbles and eating each other. Someone had taped a sign on the
glass which read “The real world is like this: eat or be eaten!” A drawing of a
stick figure chasing another stick figure with a baseball bat was scribbled
underneath.

“Quin, I'm glad you're here!” Tom rounded the corner in
front of them and immediately changed direction to walk with them down the
hall.

“Chair Rizinski has ordered an immediate audit of all
government organizations and projects, with us as their number one priority.
Mr. Drake is having conniptions, and John, here, isn't helping.”

“I just got fired,” John said.

“Well, consider yourself unfired and go tell your graduate
students to go get some sleep. Quin, I need you to erase all records of any
outside contacts or information contractors you may have that are not, well,
let’s just say—they have no paper trail. We don't have any financial records of
those relations, correct?”

“No, sir,” Quin replied.

“Good. Our accounting department is pretty good, so we
shouldn't have any issues. Melissa might strangle someone, but I think we'll be
fine.”

They turned into the main offices where the graduate
students, temporary employees, and other random related individuals worked. A
couple of students lay flat out on their desks, sound asleep; one snored
softly. The others turned pages slowly, scribbled with their pencils, and
downed copious amounts of coffee.

“Go home!” John yelled, rapping a sleeping youth on the head
with his knuckles.
“Sleep!
Eat! Come back tomorrow,
sometime, whenever you want, as long as it's before midnight.”

A wave swept over the room as the sleepers woke and the
workers stood, and backpacks filled with the rustle of papers. Coats and
scarves vanished from the backs of chairs, and in a moment, the room lay empty,
devoid of the sleepless zombie students.

“There's something you two should know,” Tom said, closing
the door after the last student stumbled through. “There is an investigation
being conducted into the death of Chair Aderick. It's completely secret—well,
except for a few of us. Mr. Drake doesn't know—he would probably have a heart
attack. We don't think Chair Rizinski is responsible, but his absence has left
some inexplicable holes and Rathead and his Woerta Clan gang members are on the
move again.”

“Er, I thought Aderick died from a heart attack. Didn't he
have heart surgery a few years ago?” John asked.

“Well, yes, but you know there are certain drugs that can
induce a heart attack. In fact, there are many things that can induce a heart
attack.” Tom crossed his arms. “I need your help. I want you to talk to your
non-existent shady friends to dig up some information regarding this issue. I
don't need evidence. Nothing needs to be proved in court, as far as I'm
concerned. We just need to know so we can figure out where we stand and what
steps should be taken. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”
Quin nodded.

“Of course,” John said, grinning. “Sounds like fun.”

“Not too fun, I hope,” Tom replied.

A crash and a dribbling thump resounded through the quiet
room, marking his statement emphatically; it was the sound of dozens of books
falling into a heap. Quin darted towards the sound. A slew of books littered
the floor, and in the midst of the wreckage sat a dazed and blinking graduate
student. She rubbed her head.

“Misty!” John exclaimed, running past Quin and kneeling next
to her. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“My mistake,” she murmured. “Did anything break? Am I
awake?”

John chuckled. “You’re awake and seem fine. Don’t worry
about the bookcase. You should go home, though.”

“First things first,” Tom interjected. “Did you hear our
conversation? It was supposed to be private, you know.”

“So sorry!
My adamant apology!” she
wailed, scrambling to pick up some books. “My associate apprentices were gone
when I woke, and then I stumbled into the bookcase, which broke.” She sank to
her knees and shook her head dramatically.

“What did you hear?” Tom asked.
“Of our
conversation?”

Misty covered her face with her hands.
“Everything.
But I will not sing!”

“Background check,” Quin stated.

“Clean.” John turned to look at the other two men.
“Leans towards the Conservative Matrite Party.
Volunteers at the animal shelter.
Work focused on trees.”

“Trees?”
Quin asked.

“Yes, her thesis is quite interesting. She's looking at a
sampling of planets from each sector of the known universe to try to find a
common factor between varieties of trees. Her only problem is that it requires
a travel permit and sampling privileges.”

“Interesting.”
Quin said, nodding.
“Religion?”

“Undecided.”

“Well, Misty the graduate student,” Quin crossed his arms
and turned all of his massive attention towards her, “I have a new job for you.
It's highly confidential. If you spill the beans you will lose everything
you've ever worked for. If you are actually useful, you will be awarded your
travel permit and, well, I can't promise you the sampling privileges, but I can
get you the travel permit.”

Misty looked up at him with wide eyes and nodded rapidly.
“Anything you say, sir! Anything you say, I know I deserve. I am pleased to
work and pleased to serve. What will I be doing? What objective needs
pursuing?”

“I can’t tell you. Not yet.” Quin shrugged. “Go nap in the
couch room. I'll come find you later. And don't say a word to anyone.”

“Yessir.
Yessir.”
Misty nodded vigorously and scrambled up from the floor with books tumbling in
all directions. She scurried out the door and down the hall.

“Can you check her locations for the last month?” Quin asked
John.

“Why can't you do it?” John replied.

“Restricted access to the graduate student
archive.”

“Oh, right. Sure.
Excuses.”

“Okay,” Tom interrupted. “Now that you've got that detail
taken care of, I expect a report sometime tomorrow.
Excellent.”
He turned to leave.

“Where did everyone go?” Mr. Drake boomed from the doorway.
“We have mountains of work to do and all I see is the two of you—” he pointed
an angry finger towards John and Quin— “gabbing about god knows what, and no
graduate students! Didn't I fire you?” He glared at John.

“He's not fired,” Tom said soothingly. “The students are
gone with my permission. Why don't we go chat in my
office.
”

Mr. Drake turned his dreadfully angry face towards Tom.
“You... you... always... always think...” he sputtered as Tom pushed him gently
out the door.

“Does she always talk like that?” Quin added a moment later.

“What?”

“Misty.
Rhyming.”

John laughed. “Why yes, yes she does.”

*****

POMEGRANATE
CITY STAR
CHAIR ADERICK DEAD BY HEART ATTACK; RIZINSK I NEW ADMINISTRATIVE CHAIR

By Sauvignon Pincer, journalist

Last night
Administrative Chair Maverick Aderick dropped dead suddenly from unknown
causes. It would appear upon initial analysis that he died of a heart attack, but
until the autopsy is complete, no official announcement will be made. Chair
Aderick had a rare heart disease which was carefully monitored by official
doctors and presumed to pose no threat to his general well-being.

Administrative Chair
for forty-seven years, Aderick established initiatives such as School for the
Homeless, Tax on Seventeen, and A Plate
A
Day. He ran
his administration with kindness and hope. Memorial services will be held in
five days.

Next in line for the
Chair, Jameson
Musk,
declined the position, stating
only that he was getting too old and would retire in a few years anyway. Elon
Canderick, second in line, also declined, announcing officially that he was
retiring due to health concerns. The third in line, Ellis Rizinski, will take the
oath for the position of Administrative Chair this evening at 7pm.

Gifts for the Aderick
family may be donated by way of the City Council Clerk. Monetary donations will
be reallocated to the fund for homeless veterans, and flowers will be sent to
various orphanages and safe houses. We all grieve for the loss of Chair Aderick
and send our condolences to his wife and children.

*****

The next morning, the sun peered through the window and
draped itself casually over two sleeping figures using books as pillows.
Bronwyn woke up with a start when the sun hit her eyes. She glanced at the
clock: seven-thirty. She stretched and then reached over and smacked Auvek on
the head.

“Wake up!
Sale day!”

Auvek groaned and pulled his hood over his eyes. “You put up
the signs, I'm going back to sleep.”

“We put up the signs last night,” Bronwyn replied. “Look
outside. There's already a line.”

Outside the shop a cluster of people waited, chatting
excitedly and pointing through the windows. A few faces pressed their noses to
the glass, peering in at the two tired teenagers. Auvek sat up rapidly.

“Leaping blennies!” he exclaimed when he saw the number of
people waiting. “Let's put out some boxes for them to dig through while we get
ready to open.”

He stood, walked over to the door, and opened it a crack.

“I'm so glad you're re-opening, young man!” an elderly
gentleman with wire-rimmed glasses exclaimed. “Our book club has been missing
this place for many years!” He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “We’ve
been boycotting because didn’t like the other Oliphant fellow very much.”

“It's my pleasure, sir.” Auvek raised his voice. “If you all
don't mind, could you step back for a moment? We are bringing out some boxes.
Feel free to browse while you wait.”

A murmur rushed through the crowd.

“Opening before opening!
Good
heavens!”

“Anything good?”

“Hasn't been a sale since Oliphant the
thirty-first!”

“Inside will be better.”

“Always put the worthless junk outside.”

“Twenty-seven used to tell us to steal it!”

“Old rascal!”

Auvek set the boxes down on the sidewalk well out of the way
of the door, slipped back inside, and took a deep breath. Turning to Bronwyn,
he said, “Let's roll. Boot up both registers. No need to assist anyone, we'll
let them free-for-all.”

“You're the boss.” The counter was still covered with books,
so Bronwyn began to clean it off. “We've got ten minutes until actual open.
Anything else to do?”