Life is Funny - 3/27

A chime comes from a brass bell set into the desk. Haley looks to the entryway. A man pushes open the door with his shoulder. He is brushed with shale dust. The creases of his yellow jacket are turned to lines of black, and the bridge of his broken nose is grayed against otherwise sun-kissed features. He keeps both hands in his pockets. Haley can see he is a miner, but why would a laborer come here?

She puts on a smile and asks aloud, "Can I help you?"

His eyes linger on her nameplate and he mouths her name, ‘Haley Clement.’ Drawing an ID cog from his jacket, he says, "Yes."

The cog clunks against the desktop. It is cut with five layers of etched teeth. He nestles it into a worn indentation, fitting the central hexagonal hole over a shaft that descends into the desk. It turns. Ponderous thumps resonate as gears and belts are fitted to the grooves. A jangling fills the reception hall, muffled by the thickness of the metal. From above, a projection light flickers. Its lens is yellowed with age. The intricate machinery of the projector is spun into motion by the reader embedded in the desk. The man’s public privacy file plays across the scratched display plate in front of Haley.

His flickershot shows him wearing a bureaucrat’s suit and repeatedly straightening his jacket lapel. Haley glances at the date shown: MEKEMBER 21, 1345. A 10-year-old cut. He’s thinner now. Below the image is his name: BOSWELL DARCY. A bell rings and the hiss of pneumatic tubes contributes to the ambience.