The damn thing was jammed again, with its usual precision timing. Four minutes before the meeting started. Of course. The Director insisted on hand-outs, too, despite the huge and expensive screens which dominated every meeting room. He was that sort of manager. Liked to go through things on paper, in person, so he could supervise his kingdom, and be seen to do so. Printed out all his emails, scribbled incomprehensible comments in the margins, redistributed the baffling results seemingly at random, and expected his minions to interpret his will as a priestly caste might interpret the movement of birds or the patterns of sacrificial entrails. And was paid a fortune to do so.
Vexed, acutely conscious of time, and suspecting that percussive maintenance was now becoming her only option of last resort, Cassandra sneaked a glance around the office, then kicked the industrial printer with profound feeling. It fell silent, crunched alarmingly, once, and then whirred again into reluctant life, spewing paper from the output tray. She sighed, and picked up a page to inspect the contents.
“Do we have to go through this every time?”
The printer coughed apologetically and disgorged another sheet of paper, then stopped abruptly. Cassandra snatched the latest missive from the tray and scanned the densely-packed type briefly, muttering aloud.
“‘Terrible warnings…rain of blood…disaster imminent…the city is doomed…heed these omens…etc.’ Really?” She pressed her hands to her hips, impatiently, crumpling the paper in one hand. “This is the third time this month. I can’t present this to the Board after what happened last time. I’m beginning to suspect that you’re doing this for attention. If you keep crying wolf, we’ll have to get an exorcist in.”
The printer hummed petulantly.
“I mean it. Now, please. Just give me the documents I asked for. I’m not going to ask again.”
There was a sort of pulsing whine which had, Cassandra decided, a distinct undertone of sulkiness. A reluctant whiffle. Then, with a final truculent heave, the slides for the quarterly Unnatural Incident Report figures emerged in all their monotone glory. It was never dull, working for the Department. Except for when it was.
She checked her watch. One minute to go. She might just make it.