The Call of Duty

The door opened. She stepped through. The door closed. For some reason, that always seemed to impress her. Probably because everywhere else on Port Forward was far less operational. On any given day, or so a very drunk IT technician had told her, the port had no less than 100 new complaints popping up. Computers on the fritz, doors with hydraulics that needed replacing. A landing pad that had its sensors go on the wonk. The list was endless. IT Man had posited that it was a curse on account of the station's terrible pun. She wasn't sure what the pun was, but it must have been terrible enough to summon a few space demon.

There had been one period, described to her over three shots of whiskey, where all the stations technicians had dedicated themselves to clearing the list. Every hour of overtime they could manage was pulled, and at least some were kept off the books to get the job done. When the Herculean task was finished, everyone had the first full night of sleep they had had in years.

Then they woke up to the oxygen producers struggling to work.

Yet still, against all odds, Section Chief Alejandra's door always worked. Without fail. And today was no exception.

Most authority holding figures that Angua had met always tried to look busy when a subordinate was due to walk in the door. An illusion to paint them in a positive light, she presumed. You never want to see the boss lazing around knowing full well that you have a laundry list of tasks to oversee. Alejandra was pulling no such con. Her hands were folded on her desk from the moment Angua stepped through the door, only parting to motion to one of the two chairs that sat at the front of the desk for visitors.

"Please take a seat, miss Case," she said, her voice warm and professional.

Angua did as instructed, taking the chair. It was of a decent quality. Not quite as good as the one being sat in by the Section Chief, but just good enough that a visitor wasn't going to complain during their short time in the office.

Opening a drawer, Alejandra produced a tablet, and slid it across the desk. Angua took it, and slid through its various screens, reading over the already open documents. Having skimmed most of the relevant information, Angua let the tablet fall into her lap, and stared at her boss.

"Stanton?" Angua asked, as a casual bit of conversation. It was clearly written on the document. She knew full well what the assignment was.

"Stanton," Alejandra replied, knowing full well all she could add was in the request, "Rather active region these days. Plenty of smuggling, among other things. I'm sure you'll have an easy time blending in."

"When do I leave?"

Alejandra would have been taken aback at the response by anyone else. Most Advocacy enforcers, despite the station's technical problems, liked the posting. Port Forward was a decently quiet spot at the edge of its system. Angua liked to leave though. Perhaps, Alejandra had mused, because it was nice to come back somewhere quiet.

"Two days, we're still setting up your lodging and means of transportation."

"So I don't get to bring my Titan this time?"

"It will arrive a few weeks later, after you've 'worked' enough to 'earn' it. We don't want it shipping in with you."

"Makes sense," Angua said, tucking the tablet under her arm, "Points of contact already establish?"

"They are."

"No further questions, ma'am," Angua said, standing.

"Then you are free to go."

With nod, Angua turned, and made her way out of the office. The door opened. She stepped through. The door closed. She wondered how on the fritz things were in Stanton.