Milk Runs

[Proselyte]

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The office complex is dead quiet. The staff have long since ended their shifts and left the premises, as the mulch-colored sky above turns darker and a starless night begins to fall. Except for one office, casting the hallways in the rather plain building with a dim light, revealing the red carpet and dull concrete walls just outside the cracked door. Hanging from them were portraits of the nation's great heroes, surrounded by the striking iconography of a distant time.

A woman's voice resonated out of the office. Older, stern, but exasperated.

Stepan, I cannot move mountains. You must understand what you are asking for.

She is speaking with someone. Making an effort to keep her voice down.

You do not understand. He doesn't have the qualifications, he's lousy. I'd be laughed out of the room once they saw his dossier.

Yes, I know the requirements are less stringent.

Right.

Your contract partners, yes.

Yes, they're on the review board.

Right, they know you.

...

I hope you're not suggesting- no, no, I know you aren't.

Of course.

You really think that is enough to swing it in his favor?

And what about the crew? If he compromises the efficiency of the state's-

Yes.

No, it isn't demanding.

Interior shipping routes, mainly.

Yes, but anything can happen. Emergencies. We need the best-

Where are the best?

In the Army, right.

Yes, Stepan, it's a safe route.

...

And... it is really necessary? For his-

Statistically, I see.

You've made your point.

...

That depends. Can I expect my dacha built by 835?

Only joking, of course.

I'll make the case, but do not be surprised if it isn't enough.

She sighs.

We had better both hope this is not a mistake.

...

For their sakes more than ours.

Yes, I'm sure.

Very well.

Good evening, then.

Silence. Moments later, the light flickers out, the dimly-lit bastion against the bleak evening melting into the blackness, as if it was never there at all.

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