Cyryl sets his pencil down and stretches his arms above his head, “hngh…”
Looking at the clock, it’s only 4:30. If this was a normal shift, they wouldn’t even be halfway done, though they’d also be swamped with paperwork.
“Any more manifests?” Cyryl says as he turns to the side and kicks his legs up onto the seat of a chair he rolled over.
“Seems we’re all caught up,” Tymon rolls his shoulders. “The volume of work is always lower at the end of the month. See, trains are modular. All of them have passenger cars, but the storage cars are split into different types. Some have perishables like food, others are stocked with military goods like ammo or spare parts. Those two keep moving during the months end, but the other type of car, the bulk transports which handle consumer goods and with which our strategic resources are sent, are typically set aside at whatever station they reach on the 14th. For some of those trains, the next station they reach on the 14th is in Heaven’s Reach, hence why we’re still getting some strategic resources offloaded. Basically, nothing ever comes on the 15th. But, on the first shift of the 1st, that’s when the discarded cars will start getting attached to trains again.”
Cyryl, actually managing to pay attention, nods. “And we have no idea what trains are carrying those resources, so we have to stay and read through every train manifest.”
Tymon waves his arm, “I sent a lot of letters complaining to the higherups in the bureaucracy, and the couriers, a few years ago. Well, I think it was a century ago. Now, it’s official courier policy to not send us manifests on trains without bulk transport cars. Sometimes they still don’t have strategic resources, but what can you do?”
Cyryl looks to the ceiling and scans his memory. “Pretty sure I’ve looked through a manifest or two where the train didn’t have bulk transport.”
Tymon takes a sip of water; they ran out of coffee an hour ago. “Well… they’re not that great at their jobs.”
Cyryl smiles and chuckles, then jumps up. “Alright then, so there’s no rush. You’re coming back tomorrow?”
“In case something comes in, yes.”
Cyryl smiles, “then let’s head out and party!”
Tymon narrows his brow, “what?”
“It’s the end of month. When was the last time you celebrated?”
Tymon shrugs.
“Come to think of it, when was the last time you had a day off?”
“If I’m awake, I’m working.” This is a lie. When his family comes through Heaven’s Reach, they always force him to take at least one day off. Though it’s been over a decade since he saw anyone, since they’ve all decided to stay in the military to help with the ongoing occupation.
“What? Oh, come on. Even soldiers get days off here and there.”
“I’m not a soldier, I’m just doing paperwork.”
Cyryl walks around the table, “which is in many ways is harder than pulling the trigger and blowing a head-sized hole in some savage’s torso. So come on!”
As Cyryl grabs the back of Tymon’s chair and starts rolling it closer to the door, Tymon’s ear’s flutter in distress, and his face sets into an uncomfortable frown, “but more manifests will come today.”
“Bah, we can do it tomorrow. It just needs to be done before the 1st, right? Let it pile up a little.”
“We?”
“Yeah, we. I’m pulling you away from work, so I’ll come back tomorrow and help you finish.”
Tymon’s fingers sink into the cushioned arm rests of the chair, “I’m not dressed to go out in public.”
Cyryl opens the door to the stairwell and rolls the chair to the concrete landing before the first step. “Do you want to walk, or do you want me to carry you? Either way, we’re taking the next bus out.”
Tymon sighs, then stands up. “What’s your goal here?” He asks as the pair starts walking down.
“I want to go partying with the friends I’ve made at my job, and unlike Urban, you’re about eight inches too short to stop me from dragging you along.”
Tymon grumbles, but ignores that comment. “When exactly did we become friends?”
“Today, dipshit. Now let’s get going. Haha! You know what? As thanks for helping me figure out my problem with women, I’ll help you get a girlfriend too!”
There wasn’t much enthusiasm in Tymon’s face before, but what little he had is drained away, and his ears start twitching. “I’d rather do paperwork.”
“I would too, but it’s our moral and religious duty as peldaks to find wives and start replacing the grievous casualties we suffered in these last two wars. So, basically, get over it.”