Director Feiller stopped in front of Technician Levine's desk. "I've got your lunch," he said, sliding a waxed white box across the desk's barren surface. "Three bean salad on a bed of savory greens. Lemon juice dressing."

Adrianne looked up, her dark eyes sparkling. She leapt to her feet. "Director Feiller, sir," she yipped. "Thank you, sir."

"That's all right," Steve Feiller said, motioning her to sit with his free hand. "Sit and enjoy your lunch." He glanced around the office. It was quiet. A good sign, especially given the news sitting on his own desk.

He turned to move on and noticed a crumb that had dropped from his bag. He leaned over to wipe it into the trash when he noticed the paper on her desk. He squinted and leaned in closer.

"What's that?"

"My journal, sir," Adrianne chirped.

"Your journal?" Director Feiller looked up, meeting a cheerful stare.

"Yes, sir, my journal. Kinda like the Chronicles of Ernst Rawley, sir." Her head bobbed like a toy dog's on the back ledge of a '56 Chevy. "He is my great great uncle, sir. He's the founder of Public Safety, sir."

"Yeah, I know," Feiller said. "But - what's this here?" He pointed to the top of the page.

Adrianne looked down and studied what he pointed at. She looked back up, brows knit in confusion. "The title, sir? The Annals of the Time Patrol."

"Oh," Feiller said, his head now bobbing. "I think annals is spelled with two n's, Levine."

"Yes, sir," Adrianne said, "Two n's, sir. I'll check it out, sir."

"You do that," Director Feiller said. "And send Fandango into my office when you see him, would you?"

"Gladly, sir," Levine said, eyes narrowing, smile drawn tight, looking a bit like a poisonous snake about to strike.

"Yeah," Steve acknowledged, walking away, head still bobbing. He paused in the doorway to his office. "As soon as he comes in, OK?"

[-01:02:14-]  [-01:02:15:01-]  [-01:02:15:02-]

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