“Dr. Johnson, you really need to do something about Chantel Richards.” The administrator waved his hands about in exasperation.
Dr. Johnson sighed, lifting her gaze from the laptop before her. Bureaucrats. Always interrupting important work for their rambles.
“Why?”
The man shuffled his feet. “Weren’t you listening?”
“No, I wasn’t. You have interrupted a very important line of thought, so I’d suggest you get on with it.”
He shook his head. “You have to do something about Ms. Richards.”
Dr. Johnson rubbed her temples. “You already said that.”
“She’s blowing the budget!” he cried, and Dr. Johnson could have sworn he stomped his foot. “We’re only a year into the project, and she’s spent three times as much as was allotted! Where are we going to get the money?”
“You do realize that is your problem, not mine?”
“It is your problem,” he scoffed, “because we’re going to have to cut budgets from other projects to support hers, if she keeps spending like this.”
Dr. Johnson sighed, brushing a loc out of her face. “Do you know the kind of research we do here?”
He stammered something, but she talked over him.
“We do critical weapons research for the United States government.” Her smile wasn’t entirely friendly. “We don’t have a budget.”
“But-”
“Or maybe you want to tell the President and the Senate Armed Services Committee why we haven’t made enough progress on their ‘high priority’ programs?”
He swallowed. “I… that is…”
“No, of course you don’t,” she said, crisply. “You are here because Randall in Accounting is too lazy to come down here himself on what he knows is a fool’s errand, but one he must do every year. What’s your name?”
“J-John.”
“And how long have you worked for the federal government?”
“Six months.”
“Well, John,” she said turning back to her computer. “You will learn that the government cares more about getting new bombs than it does about pretty much anything else. So you leave Ms. Richards’ budgetary details to me, and go back to pushing pencils upstairs.” She paused. “You wouldn’t want to be caught by a stray explosive down here.”
“Wait, that happens-”
Boom.
“Well,” she said, not looking up, “that didn’t sound good. Chantel wasn’t supposed to get the testing stage for another week.”
She smirked to herself as the accountant fled, leaving her in peace. Bureaucrats – they spend more time poking their noses into other people’s business than doing their job.
She leaned over, pressing the intercom button. “Chantel, everything okay in there?”
“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine!” Chantel coughed from the other end of the line. “But we’re gonna need some more CL-20.”
“Fill out the requisition. I’m sure you’re familiar with the form.”
“Damn paperwork,” Chantel muttered.
Dr. Johnson shook her head, a small smile on her face. Randall might even come down here himself, once he sees this latest bill.
Inspired by a prompt from Corvid Knowledge Hoard.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020