A tall brunette in a formal black suit swept through the second floor of Site 83's East Wing. She carried an indignant air, only compromised by the look of slight concern splayed across her face.
An observant bystander could have read the "OPERATION DESCENDENCY" mark printed on her Foundation keycard as she quickly swiped through one of the Site's myriad door. But the memory wouldn't have time to finish forming before the anomalous nature of the stamp dispersed the thought. Besides, they would likely be far too busy reading the much larger print of "LEVEL 4 PERSONNEL" to notice.
Her steady march through the East Wing ended at a plain door. The marking above read "Department of Translation". The door wore no lock.
A gloved hand carefully grasped the door handle and pulled.
The creak of the door was quickly overshadowed by a crash, as the sole occupant of the room fell out of his chair. Only a heartbeat after the crash, the Agent’s noospherically-conditioned eyes were scanning the room for threats.
Cheap folding chairs surrounding a center table, colors tacky. Bowl with food at least week old left out on side table, potential bio-threat. Room light kept dim, risk of eyestrain for extended stay. Minifridge also on side table, left ajar. Figure scrunched under center table next to upturned chair, cursing. No immediate threat detected.
It was at this sight the Agent took her first step into the Department of Translation.
“Are you Shawne Tilden, Head of the Department of Translation?” asked the suited newcomer, closing the door as she stepped in.
The scrawny frame that was attempting to stand up groaned, “I didn’t get enough sleep for this… if only Rick were here…”
A low beep sounded from the side table. “DNA signature matches, are there any bugs in this room?”
“Uhh…” The man known as Shawne Tilden stood up slowly “I mean the Site Exterminator was pretty thorough, but there might still be a few… Who are you again?”
“Understood.” The brunette paused, subvocalizing a command before continuing, “I have activated the Orbital Faraday Cage Projector; this half of the East Wing is now electromagnetically isolated. Understand the subject of this meeting is Level 5 slash Apotheosis clearance, which you have already been granted on a temporary basis.”
Understanding sluggishly filled Shawne’s face. “Oh I get it; this is about that one job, right?” Before the full meaning of her words caught up with him. “Wait you just did WHAT to half of the East Wing?”
“I have already explained that. This meeting is a follow up on the task assigned by the Descendency Response Force to your department…” The suited agent paused. “Who else is in your department? It was listed as a major organization, which was why we contacted you for this job.”
“Oh, well, that’ll just be me and Rick.” Shawne responded quickly. “Together we make a mean, green, translation team!”
The Agent’s ontologically-corrected theologically-reinforced nervous system quaked. “Green Translation!? There couldn’t have been a leak in Grinch Relations…” she muttered to herself.
“Wha-?” He started, before being cut off.
“That, is a problem for after this meeting. Now, we need to talk about your translation. There will be no more disturbances.” She began, looking above Shawne. “This work is critical to the survival of the Foundation and possibly humanity as a whole. That’s why it is extremely important that every element is in order. So you must understand why I had to come in person when complaints about your translation reached my office.” She turned her eyes back to the head of the Department of Translation. “What are you doing?”
The room was filled with loud munching as Shawne Tilden shoved a fistful of chips from a newly recovered bag into his mouth.
“What? Why’d you stop?” The strange man said with an open mouth.
“I…” the augmented, top-of-the line Foundation agent started. “I just need to ask a few questions about your translation of the ancient tablet, alright?”
“Ask ahead; I’ll just finish off this bag real quick,” he said, as the munching continued.
“Ok… let me just check the complaint.”
The Agent reached into a submind, currently in use housing all the necessary information for the meeting. She visualized the information into a corporate-style meeting room with a heavily annotated whiteboard covering the wall.
“Alright, so first of all, you translated the first thirteen-hundred characters of the tablet as… this can’t be right… The Cat sat on the Mat?!” She exclaimed, dumbfounded.
“If you examine what we know of the culture that produced this tablet and the apparent system of grammar, that’s the most direct translation,” said the department head, setting down the emptied bag of chips. “Or at least that’s what Rick said.”
The Agent’s eyes turned glassy, and began to exude a purple light. The Agent hummed a note at a constant pitch, as a faint oval seemed to grow from the forehead. Before long, the shape formed into an eye. A few seconds later, the humming, the purple light, and the third eye all dispersed.
“I just performed a comprehensive examination of the Foundation employee files within two degrees of separation from you. There is no one named Rick.” She stated.
“You can’t have checked that, you just stood there.” Shawne responded.
The Agent clenched her fists as her face, visibly red verging into purple, was nearly snarling. Heat audibly emanated from her augmentations as her component parts revved up into a murderous frenzy, like a tea kettle coming to a boil.
Unfortunately, she was built as a cold-blooded type of killer, and her augmentations couldn’t exactly handle the stress. As the heat and pressure increased, belts cracked, fasteners snapped, and screws melted. Systems failed, breaking other systems. Her suit was ruined, also she melted.
“Don’t know why she got so mad.” Shawne muttered to himself as he looked at the Agent-sized puddle on the floor. “Didn’t even get to tell her how I got the whole tablet to rhyme in English.”