The red mechanical flip-cards on the Simplex wall clock clicked down from ten to nine.
CLACK-BEEP.
[00:09]
A heavy solenoid inside the industrial slave clock slammed against its brass housing. The 650-nanometer red laser beam from Chief Inspector Halvorsen’s left eye socket burned hotter against Julian Vance’s sternum. Under the focused beam, the laminated cover of Julian’s Store #04 badge began to curl at the corners, smelling of scorched plastic and hot copper wire.
Across the front of his dark clerk vest, the projected HUD warning pulsed in jagged crimson letters:
[AUDIT WARNING: BADGE #044 CARRIES GIVEN NAME ONLY. DEPOSIT FAMILY SURNAME ‘VANCE’ IN THE TRAY WITHIN 10 SECONDS OR FORFEIT SHIFT STATUS.]
Julian didn’t step back. He kept his scuffed work boots planted half an inch behind the yellow painted floor line on the white ceiling tiles.
Nine seconds to resolve a billing dispute, Julian thought dryly. Still three seconds more than Mr. Henderson used to give me when the milk delivery ran late.
