Page 40 of Static/Cling

Roger scrambled after it, diving around the post and practically into the box after it. He shouted in triumph, then paused, ball in hand, as he looked back into the box to pull out the file on top. He returned to his seat next to Sal with the file in his other hand. “Guys, check this out.”

Sal took the file from him and read “Special Protocol Assignment Mechanics – Local Solutions – Fast, Accessible, Timely – Far-Reaching Extracurricular Evaluation.” They glanced up. “SPAM – LO SO – FAT FREE. Are they kidding with this shit?”

But Bjorn laughed, because that shit was funny as hell. “So, what does it say about getting this show on the road?”

They all looked at him.

“What?” Roger asked at last.

“About quickly and locally evaluating the mechanics of our upcoming extracurricular assignment.”

Roger cocked his head and stared.

“What does it say about making a plan to go to North Bay and get this file back before the wrong people see it,” he tried.

“We don’t make those plans,” Roger apprised him. “We’re told the plans, then we execute said plans.”

“That’s what April’s for,” Sal agreed.

“Gimme.” He took the file and glanced through it while Roger bounced his ball and Kassian finished his sandwich.

“Okay.” Putting the folder down, Bjorn looked around at them. “So basically, it says that lacking contact with our field supervisor—I guess that would be April—we just, like, make a plan and do the shit.”

“Do what shit?” Kassian asked.

“Go get your file, I guess.”

“We can’t just—” Roger glanced from him to Kassian to Sal and back again. “There has to be a mission. A plan. Someone has to set out the plan. Give us our assignments.”

“Yeah,” Bjorn agreed. “Us.” He looked over at Sal. “Unless you can get April on the phone to do it?”

“That can’t be right,” Kassian growled, snatching up the file and taking it back to his desk. “You must have read that wrong.”

“Well, it is.” Bjorn muttered, gathering up Kassian’s discarded lunch wrappers and sorting them into trash, blue box and compostable piles. “And I didn’t.”

Twenty minutes later, Kassian emerged from his cubicle, file in hand, looking less stressed than he had since they’d found where the file had landed. “He’s right.”

“Of course I’m right. I can read.”

Leif patted his hand. “You read really fast, babe. No one expects it from you.”

“Whatever.” He deliberately focused on opening a new file to read over past mission logs involving electronic espionage. They didn’t want his help planning, they could do it themselves.

“They’ll get used to you.”

Bjorn grunted, then glanced at the shirt—one of his—spread open on Leif’s desk. “What are you doing?”

“Lining a shirt for you.”

“With what?”

“Kassian made a bunch more of that liner he put inside the overalls. I thought it might be a good idea for you to have anoutfit you can wear to, you know, not kill car batteries and shit. If we have to go somewhere too far to walk.” He winked.

“Like North Bay.”

“Yeah. Like that.”

“That’s what he brought in with him that morning.”

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