We have an early supper that evening. I make the noodles with pesto, and while Meshani proclaims it good, I feel the noodles are overcooked. Ever unable to stay out of the kitchen, Meshani makes garlic toast to accompany our meal. We both know that I would burn it, so I cannot object to this invasion of his. And if I am being honest, I welcome his company. It means the incident of earlier is forgiven.

After supper and clean up, we both return to the sitting room to spend some time together before I must leave for work. Meshani lights a pair of candles, one upon the writing desk and a second upon the sideboard. It is about the most illumination I can comfortably tolerate without my goggles and I refuse to wear them when I am home. We both curl up on the pile of cushions, he with a book of word puzzles, and I with a novel to read. I lie with my head in his lap, so he ends up working his puzzles upon my bare chest while I brace my book upon one knee crossed over the other.

Occasionally, Meshani will ask me about the answer to one of his puzzle questions. Usually, it is because he does not know the answer, but sometimes he just genuinely wants to test my knowledge. Rarely do I get the answer wrong. Other times, a particular passage from my book strikes me as humorous, and I feel the need to share that with him. 

It is during one of these times that a knock on the door startles the both of us. 

I just about jump out of my skin at the unexpected noise. It is an effort to not roll into a defensive crouch. Meshani looks up sharply, but he does not have that predator within as I do. With deliberate motions, he sets aside his book and untucks himself from beneath me. I sit up nervously as he gets to his feet and heads for the door.

As he approaches the front door, I shut my eyes against the expected infiltration of outside light. I hear the click of the mechanism, then a short conversation, and then Meshani shuts the door once more. He begins to return and I open my eyes to find him peering down at an envelope in his hands with a confused expression.

“What is it?”

“I do not know, love, but it is addressed to you.” He holds the cream colored message out to me, and I take it from him with just as much confusion. I consider the thing as Meshani folds himself onto the cushion next to me.

The envelope is smooth beneath my fingers as I take it, and I realize that it is first stock paper and not recycled from previously used sources. It is thick, heavy stock, with crisp folds and machine cut edges. Which means it is probably imported from one of the other sub-cities and thus very expensive. A bit of tape sticks the flap of the envelope shut. I turn the envelope over several times before opening it, reading the fine script in which my name is written several times, feeling the almost velvety smoothness of the paper’s texture, and generally wondering what would warrant this sort of message instead of just sending a runner. There is very little emotion worked into the ink scribed upon the outside, just a bureaucratic professionalism that leaves much to be desired.

Finally, I can only shrug and pop open the tape. I draw out a single thick sheet of paper, of the same weight and texture as the envelope. It is also cream in color and folded into thirds to fit within. Unfolding it, I find it covered in the same blocky yet elegant script as the text upon the outside and filled with the same uncaring emotion.

“To Tarriq Zar, Darkwalker, Londinium,” I read aloud. “You are hereby notified of a change to your hours within the Internal Order department of the sub-city of Londinium. Effective immediately, you are instructed to observe a work schedule beginning at 2200 hours daily and ending at 0600 hours, consisting of four (4) days worked followed by one (1) day of rest. This schedule is designed to allow for direct supervision of the newest employee within the Internal Order roster, Kellen Kaar, whom you are instructed to supervise personally at all times during his employment until he reaches the age of 16 years. Additionally, Master Kaar is to be granted adequate time during his work shift to complete the requirements for education as determined by law for all citizens of the sub-city of Londinium. Master Kaar has been notified of these requirements and has been placed into an independent study program to facilitate this schedule. Sincerely, Merrick Kaar, Senior Administrator, Internal Order, Londinium.”

I let my hands fall to my lap and simply stare at Meshani in disbelief. 

“That is not technically a change to your daily hours,” he grumbles. “But it does change your weekly schedule.”

“What it does is make me responsible for not only my own work, but also Kellen’s education!” I snarl. “If I wanted that, I would have become a school teacher. Merrick is trying to get around my employment of his son in any way possible!”

Meshani takes the paper from my hands before I can crumple it in anger. He reads the page silently, then a second time. “It says the lad will be in an independent study program, so you will not have to give him direct instruction.”

“No, just personally supervise him four out of every five days for the next two years. I am his boss, not his babysitter!”

“How many days on does each team get assigned?”

I pause, calculating, which serves to cool my anger slightly. “Usually two teams are on shift at a time. One and Seven are paired, and they will have a shift of eight hours. Then Two and Eight will relieve. Three and Nine after that, which brings a full 24 hour cycle to close. So each team is on shift every other day. With this four on/one off schedule, there will definitely be days when I am not assigned but Kellen is. Which means either Kellen gets an extra day off work, or more likely, I will be expected to go in on a scheduled day off.”

“Is it possible that Merrick has reworked the scheduling for all of IO?”

“If he has, I will be furious. But I doubt it. Scheduling has not changed since Grandy set it years ago and Merrick is a lazy bastard. Trying to rearrange the schedule would be a logistical nightmare he would never willingly undertake.”

“Maybe Kellen is being scheduled outside the team structure to coincide with your work days?”

I consider this idea. “That seems like the most probable answer,” I grouse. “Which is in direct contradiction to my instructions that Kellen be placed on Team One.”

Meshani considers for a moment. “Perhaps he is not trying to get around it as much as you think,” he comments at length. “Remember that the lad is only 14. There may be regulations that limit his employment and this is the best way Merrick can get around that.”

“I sincerely doubt that Merrick is legitimately okay with his son tricking me into employment,” I snort. “More likely, he is using this as a way to discipline the both of us by using my position against me. I know he hates that everything is dependent upon just a single individual. But he is not willing to entertain the idea of using Denzai employees during overnight shifts. Every time I bring it up, he gives me the same rhetoric of needing to integrate the two cultures before putting humans into a team with Denzai. Because of course, we have to protect the Denzai from conflict with humanity and a scared human is likely to lash out. Which I cannot find fault with. But it is demeaning to my teams. The long timers have worked with me for 12 years, and my sire before me. If they are not accustomed to how Denzai work by now, they do not belong in IO.”

Meshani sighs. “It seems no use trying to figure it out right now. You will have your answers when you go on shift this evening.”

“Which leaves about two hours,” I add. Meshani hands the paper back to me, and I consider it petulantly for a long moment. And then an idea strikes me. With a grin, I begin to fold the paper into a new shape. 

“What are you doing?” I answer Meshani’s inquiry with only a chuckle, my fingers never pausing, and he decides to simply watch with a confused look. In a few minutes, I finish and throw the letter across the room. As a glider, it sails quite well to the far side of the sitting room and the nose crumples as it strikes the wall.

“And that,” I declare, “is what I think of Merrick’s correspondence.”

Meshani actually giggles. “Did you just turn an official document into a paper airplane?”

“I most certainly did,” I affirm, feeling completely unrepentant and perhaps more than a bit pleased with myself.

Meshani rises and retrieves the now expensive toy, straightens out the nose carefully, and lobs it back toward me. It sails above my head, stalls, and plummets into the cushions. 

We proceed to launch the letter across the room for the next hour and a half until I have to get ready for work.