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“Hello, DMIC?”

Veero answered the phone by passing her fingers across an electrically-sensitive pad that placed the phone into conference mode. “Yes, this is the Department of Minor Incompetence Correction, chapter two-fifty-seven.” She said the chapter number in a low voice, and then added, “Hi Mrs. Wilson!”

Mrs. Wilson was a little bit uneasy with the receptionist, because she wasn’t entirely real. How does one talk to a hologram, she wondered. “Hi Veero. Is Wenchy in?”

Veero said, “Let me check.” She swiped the pad and flew through the wall, calling, “Wenchy!” as though she were looking for a lost dog.

O-Man had set up a makeshift bowling alley with nine Dr. Pepper cans and was demonstrating the fine art of rolling several sheets of tin-foil wrapped together in a surprisingly hefty ball.

“It’s bowling without the heavy ball!” he said, squatting down and eyeing the “pins” like an old pro.

“And the shoes,” added Wenchy, smirking.

O-Man drew his hand back and rolled the tinfoil ball down the alley — demarcated by wrenches — and sent the pins flying with a clatter and clang. Veero flew over and announced, “Phone call! It’s Mrs. Wilson.” Her words, despite their cheery tone, had the opposite effect upon Wenchy, who sighed and said softly, “I’ll take it in the office.” She adjusted her glasses, walked determinedly into the office, and shut the door behind her.

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