The chorus of replies came back, all positive. The decagon was a raised platform, with short walls, and each of the ten walls had a cubicle connected to it. Each cubicle had one or two employees within, most facing the decagon. One of the pillars holding up the arching ceiling emerged from the decagon, a structure for computer equipment and display monitors to hang off of.

Two people in the cell were pulling open bag and drawer, respectively, to retrieve identical booklets, both with yellow covers and yellow at the page’s edges, so the closed books had yellow at the three sides that weren’t the black spine. Three others already had the book open in some fashion, as matter of habit. They had for some time now. Another two cells were spartan, with little decoration but for a plant in one cell and a family picture in another. No notes, no books, no papers. Only the computers, displays, a magnetic board with iron shavings, and a set of bells.

One of the two that was getting their book out tried to open it to the first section, but the book naturally closed because of the rigidity of paper and the firmness of spine. She typed with one hand while struggling with the other to maintain her place in the book. A tinker lens was mounted over one corner of her face. She was young, seventeen or so, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, her clothes somewhere on the comfortable end of the sliding scale between comfortable and business casual, while not being altogether inappropriate for the space.

The Overseer looked over her shoulder, while reaching out to help press and hold the pages flat. Text was appearing on the screen without problem at the same time and rate it was being spoken. The other person in the cell who was transcribing was using a stenotype machine, while this one used a keyboard, typing on a keyboard that was normal but for a few added buttons that helped navigate the autocomplete.

Tattletale: I’m not sure if I should thank you for explaining that or be horrified, but fuck. I don’t get the impression he was a mole for them. Marquis, Lord of Loss, and the other background players of Earth N? Sure. But them? Not consciousllllllll;;;y.

“Shit,” was the muttered and horrified acknowledgement of the error. The girl had been trying to turn the page and the book had clapped shut. She’d leaned on a key as she reached out to pull the book closer.

The Overseer tapped a bell.

“No, don’t—fuck. Shit. I’m sorry.”