C.M. Miltona walked along the divide between cubicles, stepping down into the cubicle, leaving the other two C.M.’s behind in the Decagon, which had just flicked its lights over to red. The C.L.s from other cells were approaching, the first ones finding places to settle in where they wouldn’t be in the way.

“We have limited moves if they’re blacking us out, so let’s make those moves count,” C.M. Howe said, clapping his hands together.

The C.Ms came in a variety of flavors, and with the way they’d been spread across cells, they tended to fall into certain roles. Cell Manager Howe was the cheerleader, the coordinator. An omnipresent and encouraging voice that kept everyone moving at the same tempo.

“Talk to me, what’s going on?” Cell Manager Miltona asked as she entered, assessing the scene in the cell.

“Laurie is fumbling,” the Overseer said.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry. I hit a key wrong,” Laurie said, rushed, her voice overlapping the Overseer’s. But in the process of her continued attempts to open the book, type, and explain herself, she made another typo, autocompleting to the wrong word. She made a face, then hit a key combination. A red box encased the lines of text.

Semiramis: You think he disrupted my deal with Engel and Egg to keep them from connecting dots?

Tattletale: You connected dots. We are the dots. You know the how, where, and what. I know Teabag’s why.

Heads in the Decagon turned toward Laurie’s cell while Miltona ducked her head a fraction lower, unhappy. The text and the error was clearly visible on their screens. The C.L.s were there, too.

“Type. Take thirty seconds, type, find your rhythm,” Miltona said, voice calm. She got a cloth from a high shelf in the cubicle, the upended a water bottle to wet the cloth. She pressed the cold cloth to Laurie’s forehead, then moved to wet Laurie’s hair, smoothing it back and out of the way. A hand rubbed Laurie’s shoulder.

Laurie let out a breath she’d been breathing too shallowly to really process.

“Headache?” Miltona asked, after the thirty seconds had passed.

“No.”

“In about five minutes the next team starts cycling in. Denton sits in, he can assist you. If you need to call off early, that’s fine.”

“No, I don’t,” Laurie said, her eye not leaving the screen. Her left eye, almost hidden by the opaque white lens and the rigging that held that lens to her head, would periodically move in a direction independent of her right eye, tracking details and numbers as they came in.

“You were getting your yellow book out. I’ve quizzed you on that on shift starts and ends, you’re as good as anyone. Aren’t you confident?”

“I’m confident,” Laurie said. “But I thought it would be nice to have.”