The Garrison Test

Link to article: The Garrison Test.

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+ The Garrison Test
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Ali stood in the foyer to Director Garrison's office, clipboard in hand. Although it had only been a short time since she returned to the Foundation, Ali refused to let her absence get the best of her. The very next day, immediately after [[[Rhetorical Metonymy|she had arrived at SITE]]], she asked Heather for an assignment.

Most Directors would balk or refuse to welcome an unknown back to work so quickly -- especially somebody from the Noosphere, one whom had no real evidence of who they were. But, much to Ali's delight, Heather Garrison was not like other Directors.

//Thankfully,// Ali thought, scanning her clipboard, //I wouldn't have survived in containment.//

She didn't remember much from her time with the Foundation, but when she did recall something, it was always painful: a flash of emotion, a sensation, something overwhelming and all-encompassing. Part of her remembered what she had seen working for the Foundation at their more dangerous Sites; not that she could tell you what had happened. Despite her amnesia, //some// primal part of her hadn't forgotten.

Scars, old wounds, nightmares -- even without the memories, she still had the trauma responses. It was like a phantom pain, but for Ali's sense of self.

Things were better if she didn't dwell on it.

"Thank you all for waiting," Ali said to the room. "Director Garrison will be ready shortly."

She looked between the gathered individuals, mentally checking them off the list.

A bald, densely bearded man stared at her, evaluating Ali with a calculating gaze. He stared, scrutinizing every detail, as if they were clues; Ali caught his eyes, and the man stared back, eyes narrowing.

//Orville Pennrose,// Ali noted, studying his face. His stare wasn't meant to intimidate, nor did he flinch when caught. If anything, he almost looked smug; like he had just solved a riddle. What that riddle was? Only he knew.

Next to him was a younger woman, hair loosely tied in a bun. She wore dark, athletic leggings, contrasting heavily with her business blouse. The woman perched on her chair lazily, a fox-like grin as she furiously scribbled in a leather bound notebook.

The cover of the journal was inscribed with a name: 'Aurelia Thorson'. Ali checked her off the list, her eyes lingering on the woman's toned legs, Aurelia's lithe athleticism having distracted her from the job at hand.

Ali shook her head. //You don't even know if you like girls,// Ali reminded herself. //Although, with how I'm reacting...//

She continued, electing to explore her sexuality another time -- in the grand scheme of things, that was a low priority for her. The next woman she recognized immediately, laughing as Lillian Lillihammer sat, arms crossed, like a petulant child waiting to see the principal.

//She's been putting on a performance,// Ali thought, seeing Lillian glance around surreptitiously. //Must be trying to get a read on the others.//

Although Lillian and Heather were nearly inseparable, Heather had planned today without Lillian's input. Lillian, overtly, was unhappy about being as unaware as the rest of their guests.

The final individual sat further apart, staring emptily into the distance. They had darker skin, and long, straight black hair; the depth of that darkness was shattered by bright green eyes that held endless dimension and seemed to cycle through shades. Her broad brow was furrowed -- it had been, since they had arrived in the waiting room.

//Anangokaa Morrisseau,// Ali confirmed, tallying the list. //Heather should call for somebody any minute now.//

It was nice to have a duty, again. After spending so long, trapped with her mind drifting aimlessly in the abyss, Ali truly appreciated having a job, playing a role; it meant that she had something to do.

And that was a whole lot better than nothing.

-----

"What are you doing?"

"Getting ready," Heather answered, not bothering to look up from her gathered papers. Omnia sat, legs kicked out, on a low bookshelf behind her, peering over her shoulder. "More Director stuff. Why?"

Omnia shrugged and smiled, as if Heather had cracked a joke.

"I know that," Omnia said, as if any living being would know. "But what's going on today?"

"Today?" Heather glanced up, looking at the relatively-normal woman. //No,// Heather corrected herself, //she's a woman, who just so happens to be the Noosphere.//

It was not an easy adjustment, spending every day with a conceptual dimension personified in a curious, bubbly twenty-something -- especially when that twenty-something had existed for eternity, and whose death could potentially erase all human consciousness and memories.

//But I can't worry about that,// Heather half-joked, brushing the scale of the situation away. //Plus, I bet tons of other Foundation employees work alongside forces of nature. It's not that weird, right?//

"Mom," Omnia said, nudging Heather's chair with her foot. "You got distracted."

//No,// Heather remembered, //it's definitely fucking weird.//

"Omnia," Heather said in an exasperated, clearly familiar tone. "I'm not your mother."

"Debatable."

The worst part was that, yes, if given the chance, Omnia //would// debate that topic; she had, each and every time it had come up, with both Heather and Lillian. Inevitably, the girls would tire before Omnia caved; when you've been around for as long as Omnia has, patience is on an entirely different scale. The three were stuck in a standoff: Omnia would call them her moms, and they would deny it every time.

//Heath, focus up,// she reminded herself, returning to the pages before her. "We're doing a final round of interviews today."

"For?" Omnia asked, reaching out for the papers -- for all of her eccentricities, she wanted to be helpful, and Heather was happy to oblige.

"The Department Heads," Heather replied, passing the folder back. "The people here today should be perfect -- I think."

"You think so?" Omnia asked, flipping through the pages. "Have they run departments elsewhere?"

"No," Heather said, "but when has that ever stopped me before?"

Omnia nodded.

"Why did they have to come here?" Omnia asked intensely. "Unless it's not just an interview?"

"Did I ever tell you about [[[The Lillihammer Test]]]?"

"No," Omnia replied, before quickly adding, "but you didn't have to tell me about it, I remember it."

//Right,// Heather reminded herself. //She was watching me that entire time.//

A shiver ran down her spine, but was quickly brushed off.

"Right," Heather said, nodding. "Well, today, I'm going to ask each of them to solve 'The Garrison Test'."

"What is it?"

Heather opened her bottom drawer, and removed a shape, covered in a black velvet cloth. She placed it on the table, and removed the cover; a glass box sat, hinged, with a lock on the front, clamping the box together. Clearly visible, as if suspended in the void within the box, was a small, black, leather sphere.

"This," Heather said, gesturing to the glass prism, "is the test."

Omnia managed to think in silence -- at least, for a few seconds -- before blurting out in confusion. "The box is the test?"

"No," Heather said, rolling her eyes. "But, the test is easy. All you have to do is give me the ball."

"Oh." Omnia looked into the distance, the gears turning in her mind. "And... and that helps you know if somebody is a good fit to run a department at SITE?"

"Yes," Heather said, smirking. "Yes it does."

-----

"Can I ask you questions?" Orville Pennrose asked, his British accent betraying his origin. "Or, rather -- I presume that I can ask you questions?"

Heather smiled, remembering his past experience at the Foundation -- bouncing between sites, Pennrose had a long string of average performance reviews. At first glance, he seemed mediocre at best, having spent over a decade accomplishing little; if anything, most would wonder how he had stuck around for so long, middling.

But Heather had seen the patterns; she saw the shapes, hiding in plain sight. Each time Orville was transferred, it was following a raid, incident, containment breach, or disaster that he was directly involved in. She saw the after-action reports, the countless others who died in violent or horrific fates; and she saw how, in all of them, Orville remained.

That was exactly what Heather was looking for.

"I don't see why not," Heather answered, casually leaning back in her chair. "What do you want to know?"

"You've asked me to give you the leather sphere, correct?"

"Yes."

"Am I allowed to touch the box?"

"Of course."

Heather had expected Pennrose to move immediately, turning the box over in his hands. But, the man had not moved. He continued to stare at the box, as if evaluating each and every facet.

"Does the hinge open?" he asked, pointing towards the back of the box. "Actually, different question: does the box open with the hinge, in the way that I would expect it to?"

"Interesting way of asking that," Heather joked, "but yes. It opens just as you would expect, no tricks."

Orville looked at Heather, wry smile on his face.

"Somehow," he said, "I doubt that."

Heather grinned back.

"The lock," he continued. "Is it yours?"

"It is."

"How long have you owned it?"

//Weird,// Heather thought, //but sure, I'll answer.//

"I've had it for a week or two," Heather said. "I bought it for today."

Orville nodded. He looked at Heather, and then around the room -- he was like a rat, hunting down a speck of food. Somewhere, somehow, there would be an answer; while Heather didn't understand him, she recognized his back straighten, shoulders rolling back.

"I believe I'm ready," he said, looking at Heather calmly. "It seems as though this test is not about the ball; or rather, the ball itself is not the point. You are clearly evaluating us, in some way; the specifics don't really matter, though. You are willing to answer questions, and your inflection indicates a level of honesty, but that could be part of the test."

Heather didn't respond. He continued.

"You clearly intend to use this same box again, at least three more times today. I doubt you would go to the trouble of preparing a box for each of us, nor would you be overly enthusiastic if I were to interfere with that. However -- the test was to give you the ball, was it not?"

"It was," Heather responded, keeping her reaction neutral.

Pennrose nodded to himself, scratching his beard. After a moment, he extended his hand. "May I?"

Heather obliged, passing Orville the box. She watched as he calmly held the box in his right hand, reaching into his inner coat pocket with his left. A moment later, he pulled out a metal object: a sleek, shined pair of knuckledusters wrapped around his delicate fingers. He flexed them, for just a second -- and in a swift movement, hit the lock with immaculate precision.

The lock popped open, the box undamaged. Orville calmly returned the weapon to his jacket, and passed Heather the leather ball.

"So," Orville asked smugly, "did I pass?"

"You tell me." Heather looked mischievous. "As the new Defenses and Distractions Section Chair, should I hire you?"

Without missing a beat, Orville answered.

"Personally, I wouldn't -- not with my track record. Don't you want somebody who does things the right way?"

Heather shook her head.

"No. I want people who get shit done."

-----

"Aurelia Thorson," Heather read aloud from a file, the fox-like woman sitting opposite her. "You are listed as an Anomalous Ontology Technicia--"

"Yes," Aurelia replied sharply, rolling her eyes. "I get this all the time. Anomalous Ontology is the stu--"

"Oh," Heather said, giggling. "Yeah, you don't need to explain what that is to me."

"You're familiar?" the woman asked, pulling a leg closer to her body. "Sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"No, no," Heather said, waving her off. "It's fine. I'm the current Department Head of Anomalous Ontology, so if I did bring you on, you'd end up serving as the Assistant Department Head, at least, for now."

Aurelia was flush.

"I-- I'm sorry," she stuttered, swallowing hard and looking apologetic. "I have to explain what I do to every person I meet, so I just--"

"Assumed you would have to do the same here?"

"Yeah," Aurelia answered, scratching her head. "I didn't mean to offend you, Director, I--"

"Hey," Heather said, reassuring her. "It's okay, I was the same way. On my first day at Site-43, I ended up in a pissing contest with another woman -- who I would later learn was my boss."

"How did that go?" Thorson asked, opening up gradually. Heather laughed.

"Well," she said, looking at a framed picture on her desk. "We've been together ever since."

"That's sweet." Aurelia seemed to settle in further, leaning forward onto the desk. "It would be nice to work at a site where my bisexuality isn't a //thing//, you know?"

"Oh," Heather said in a joking tone. "So you've decided to allow yourself to work at SITE?"

"Shit," she replied, shaking her head. "Sorry, Director, I didn't mean to--"

"And stop calling me 'Director'," Heather added lightly. "But, to be up front -- I really like you, as a candidate, and want you to work for me."

"Oh?" Aurelia responded in confusion.

"I read your report and process for [[[SCP-8426]]]."

"The toaster," Aurelia groaned. "Do you know how often I have to defend that conclusion?"

"I agree with you, for what it's worth." Heather flipped through some more pages. "Although, I get the sense that you're... you don't believe it's just a toaster, right?"

"Obviously."

"Well," Heather replied, "if you get this position, I think we should dig deeper. Figure out what triggered the shift, find out what changed in the concept. But, first, you have to pass one final test."

Heather smiled, gesturing to the glass box that sat between them.

"What do I have to do?" Thorson asked, absentmindedly pulling out her notebook and pen.

"Give me the leather ball."

For the next five minutes, the women sat in relative silence. Aurelia focused on her journal, looking back and forth between Heather, the box, and her notes; she wrote furiously, each page turned in a hurried frenzy.

Finally, Aurelia broke the silence.

"You want the ball."

"Yes," Heather answered. "That //is// what I said."

"That ball?"

//Interesting,// Heather thought. "What do you mean?"

"Can you tell me //exactly// what I have to do?"

Aurelia didn't look lost, or confused; she wasn't asking that question because she didn't understand what needed to be done. She was asking for another reason, one that Heather grokked in an instant; she wanted to talk semantics.

"I would like you to give me the leather ball," Heather answered simply, stating it as plain fact.

"Okay. Right." Aurelia checked her notes. "You said 'the leather ball'."

"I did."

"Obviously, the implication is that you would like the ball inside the box."

"That would make sense," Heather snarked back as Aurelia grinned.

"But you didn't specify that."

"That is true." Heather nodded, conceding to the point. "What are you getting at?"

"I don't think it has to be that ball."

//Very interesting.// Heather leaned back in her chair, evaluating the woman. "Explain."

"You asked for 'the leather ball'. You implied that you wanted the ball from the box; but you never actually said that. I think this is all just a big trick; you're having fun, anybody could see that-- your grin is an obvious tell."

"Me? Obvious?" Heather laughed.

"It's all a game, right?" Thorson sat back in her chair, eyebrows raised in appraisal. "I don't think I fully understand it yet, but, I don't think I have to. I can only see a few of the pieces, but--"

Aurelia paused, ripping a piece of paper from her notebook, and passing it to Heather, face down.

"There you go."

Heather flipped the page over, curious of what she would uncover. On the page, in plain black ink was a sphere: rough, hastily drawn, but ostensibly spherical. Below, text read: '//The// Leather Ball'.

"You think you've solved it?" Heather asked, smile creeping onto her face.

"I think," Aurelia said, "I've gotten as close as I can. Was I right?"

Heather laughed, like a coyote barking at the moon.

"You //did// give me 'the leather ball' -- welcome aboard Technician Thorson, I'm looking forward to working together."

Aurelia, for her part, mirrored Heather's excitement.

-----

"I'm not doing a test," Lillian said firmly, crossing her arms in a huff. "You know I'm the best person for the job."

"Babe," Heather intoned with a teasing warning. "You are; and you are //absolutely// taking this test. Now, are you going to do it, or should I mark you down as a failure?"

"How dare you?" Lillian joked, rolling her eyes. "Fine. Heath, be a dear, and pass me the key."

"Is that any way to speak to your boss, //Doctor// Lillihammer?" Heather had a shit-eating grin.

"Really? And somehow, this little bit of power dynamics and flirting proves that I can run a Memetics and Countermemetics department?"

"More or less," Heather said, intentionally dancing around the answer.

"So," Lillian said, standing from her chair, "my experience, I don't know, as Section Chair of Memetics and Countermemetics at Site-43; does that matter?"

"Not if you fail this test."

Lillian groaned audibly.

"Fine." Lillian stretched her jaw, posture changing incrementally, into a practiced, professional tone. "Director Garrison, would you please provide me with the key to this box?"

"No." Heather smiled.

Lillian stood up, groaning at her girlfriend's seemingly arbitrary choices.

"First, you don't tell me what you're planning -- worse than that, you won't even give me any hints. Then, I find out that the 'big secret' was just... what? Taking a ball out of a box? And, on top of all of this, my girlfriend, who has worked at the Foundation for less time, and who is younger than me, is //forcing// me to take an arbitrary test, so that I can continue to perform the role that I was already in?" Lillian turned on her heel, leaning onto the desk, looming over Heather. "Did I miss anything?"

"You didn't mention the name of the test," Heather said, casually, like a spider lying in wait.

"What the fuck did you call it? The 'Locked Box Test'?" Lillian was on a roll now.

"I called it the Garrison Test," Heather said, watching as Lillian froze. "You just //always// inspire me so much," she continued, lilting sarcastically.

"Really?" Lillian said, eyes wide in annoyance.

"Hey," Heather said, laughing and looking up at Lillian. "You made me take the Lillihammer Test."

"Fuck," Lillian admitted, biting her lip. "God damn it, are you really going to use that against me?"

"The joy of power dynamics," Heather noted, drifting closer to Lillian's face. "Although, I remember when we did the Lillihammer Test, things got... interesting."

The women blushed at the memory, and where the test had ended.

"I think," Lillian said slowly, stretching down to kiss her girlfriend's neck. "I think I remember what happened, but... would you refresh me?"

Lillian was begging for it, and Heather was happy to oblige. She pulled Lillian down into a passionate kiss, the couple hungry and pent up; she felt Lillian's hands wandering her body, grabbing at her hips. Heather shuddered, feeling Lillian's hand slip deeper -- a second later, Lillian pulled away.

The key to the box was in her hand.

"So, did I pass your test, Director Garrison?" Lillian asked in a mocking sweetness, head tilted to one side.

"Get the fuck out of here," Heather said, laughing. "I'll see you tonight, yeah?"

"Of course," Lillian said as she began to walk away, calling out behind her. "And after dinner, maybe you can help me remember //exactly// what happened in my bedroom."

Heather watched her girlfriend leave, eyes fixated on her swaying hips as she turned around the corner; for a second, she locked eyes with Heather, and winked.

//Honestly?// Heather thought, leaning back in her chair. //That went better than expected.//

-----

Anangokaa Morrisseau sat quietly in the chair, facing Heather, a placid look on their face.

"It's nice to finally meet in person," Heather said, extending her hand. Anangokaa looked at the hand, as if it was a foreign object -- a moment later, he reached out, clasping Heather's hand.

"Director Garrison, thank you for having me in this..."

"Conceptual monstrosity?" Heather asked, smiling.

"Facility," they finished, smiling back. "I didn't expect that you would seriously consider me as a candidate; so you must understand, I was surprised when you reached out."

"Why's that?" Heather cocked her head.

"I have seen many Sites, many directors, and even more bright-eyed researchers like you." They coughed, clearing their throat. "But, I have always remained where I was; in the background."

Heather flipped through a folder. "My notes are missing your pronouns, is that--"

"Any are fine," Anangokaa replied softly. Their towering stature was dissonant with the slight way they held themselves, the constantly shifting tone, a pendulum swinging in every direction but the gender binary. "My identity has always been mutable."

"I understand," Heather replied, writing down a few notes in the margins of the page. "Are you genderfluid?"

"Two-spirit," they answered.

"Oh!" Heather said in recognition. "Actually, I was wondering something else."

"About my work history?" Anangokaa asked, pursing his lips.

"No," Heather said, closing the folder. "Do you mind-- is it okay if we talk about your personal history, for a second?"

Their reserved gaze stared blankly at Heather, appearing unimpressed and pissed off -- Heather quickly realized, that was their neutral.

"Of course," they finally said, face muscles relaxing ever-so slightly. "So long as your questions are reasonable."

"I just... look, I'll be up front with you. I wasn't sure how to fill this position, to be honest; given how new SITE is, and the range of anomalies we might be dealing with, it's kind of hard to find somebody who has experience with well..."

"Anything and everything?" Anangokaa offered, their left brow slightly raised.

"Exactly." Heather stretched, cracking her neck. "And then, I read your file. I read about how, by the time you were hired by the Foundation; you were already familiar with containing anomalies? The file wasn't clear, can you help me understand what that's about?"

"Ah, that. Yes, well, I guess one could say that was the case."

"You would disagree?" Heather asked, curiously.

"I grew up living with my family, trying our best to maintain tradition. My grandmother was a //mashkikiiwininiikwe//, a 'medicine woman' -- the truth was, she saw the dark flashes in the night, and unlike others, refused to look away. I grew up, taught by her, watching the evil spirits that lurked, the restless creatures waiting to prey on the unsuspecting; I protected my siblings from dangers they were unaware of, stopping beings that should not be. I was raised, a guardian; maintaining daily life has always been second nature to me."

"What happened when you met the Foundation?"

"I don't wish to speak about that, yet." Anangokaa gave Heather a sad look, before continuing. "Perhaps, one day. But not today."

"Trust is earned," Heather said, nodding. "Take your time."

Anangokaa Morrisseau covered their mouth, pausing, just momentarily; their eyes, darting side to side, blinking alternatively, before they shook their dark hair from their face, tilting their head back.

"I believe," he said, as if it were commonplace, "you had a final test for me?"

"That's right." Heather uncovered the glass box, presenting it to Anangokaa. "I would like you to give me the leather ball."

After a moment, Anangokaa replied. "Is that all?"

"That's it," Heather said briskly. "As simple as that."

Anangokaa crossed her arms, pausing -- Heather watched the micro-expressions dance across their face, years of masking having concealed the majority of their reactions. She saw Anangokaa consider something, hesitating, as if she should keep it to herself -- and then they spoke.

"I believe I have the answer, but -- may I tell you a story first?"

"Sure," Heather joked. "Nothing in the rules against that."

It was almost undetectable; but Heather was //pretty// sure that they had smiled. Maybe.

"One of the first roles I had, after joining the Foundation, was as emissary to other local indigenous tribes in the area of an anomaly. The Foundation, identifying the anomaly, would roll in, and in their usual brash colonialist fashion, break everything for the sake of 'normalcy'."

"Sounds like the Foundation," Heather said, rolling her eyes. "Things will be different here, though."

"I can tell." Anangokaa nodded, continuing their tale. "I would be called in, after the fact, to smooth out the 'problem points'."

"The people?"

"The people," Anangokaa confirmed, shaking her head. "One of the earliest times, I recall the Foundation was at their wits end; a being was stalking the woods each night, threatening the 'veil'. The tribe had lived with the being for centuries -- it was a benevolent spirit, one that helped lost souls. But, of course, to the rest of the Foundation; any anomaly is a problem, and one that //they// need to fix."

"What happened?" Heather asked, fully enraptured in their story.

"The Foundation had tried many things: magic, technology, bullets, but nothing worked. Nothing would stop the shadow from appearing, and they were at a loss. I was called in, to ask the local tribes what they knew about it; but it was too late. When I arrived they refused to speak with me, spat at me, told me that I was just the same."

"Oh."

"It hurt. But, that is a pain I could weather. Seeing that they would not help me, I considered the problem the Foundation had. There was an anomaly, not dangerous, but one that was threatening the secrecy of their magical world; the Foundation had tried reacting with violence, containment, restrictions and barriers, the standard fare. But nothing had worked."

"Right," Heather said, pieces coming together. "So, what did you do? I assume that you helped contain it?"

"I asked it to leave," Anangokaa said, a dry chuckle surfacing from deep within. "And then it did."

Heather burst out into laughter, filling the office with a lightness -- Anangokaa smiled toothily, grinning.

"I love it," Heather said, shaking her head. "I think you understand what this is about, then?"

"I believe so," Anangokaa confirmed, looking at the puzzle before her. "That day, I reminded myself that 'containment' comes in many forms, and that the Foundation's standard was never the perfect solution. When faced with an obstacle, I remember that moment. I find the answer that others would not; that is what I can offer you, Director Garrison."

Anangokaa reached out, and picked up the glass box. They passed it to Heather, wry look on their face.

"You want me to be the Department Head of Containment and Research," Anangokaa said plainly, looking at the closed box. "You have the ball in containment; I'd be an idiot to remove it. If you hold the chamber, you hold the object."

"Containment comes in many forms," Heather repeated to Anangokaa, smiling. "I look forward to working alongside you."

-----

Ali entered Heather's cluttered office, seeing Heather at her desk, an elbow on the table propping her up. She sat sideways, not trying to mask her fatigue -- it had been a long day of 'testing', Ali knew. She didn't know what the test was, nor had the reactions of the departing candidates helped in that regard; not that it really mattered to Ali, she was satisfied to have facilitated whatever Heather had planned.

"Director Garrison," Ali said, getting Heather's attention. "Did you need anything else from me today?"

"I don't think so, but thank you, Ali." Heather shook her head, snorting. "Sorry, it's just... it's weird, you know, to have people working for you? I just... I'm not a boss, I'm not a Director, I'm just making all of this up as I go. Do... do you think anybody noticed?"

Heather looked, in that moment, immensely vulnerable. Ali gave a gentle smile in reassurance.

"Director Garrison," Ali said, absentmindedly tidying the folders on Heather's desk. "Everybody makes things up as we go; I myself am no different. In fact, everything I do is new, or novel -- but you are different."

"How so?" Heather asked, biting her lip.

"You make people believe that you know what to do; and failing that, you are willing to let them answer the question. A good leader knows how to use their subordinates; a great one allows them the chances to thrive and grow in their own ways."

Heather sniffled, wiping her nose roughly.

"Thanks, Ali," Heather said. "That helped."

"Good, I'm glad." Ali straightened the skirt she wore, looking back at Heather. "Was there anything else I can do for you today?"

Heather had turned around, staring at the grotesque painting that lived on the wall -- without turning back, she spoke.

"One thing. Ali, do you see the locked box on my desk, with the ball within it?"

"I do."

"Can you pass me the ball?"

A beat passed, and then another. Ali, for a moment, considered the question -- she found her own answer.

Ali picked up the glass cube, and dropped it; it crashed on the ground, shattering, the box falling apart. Carefully, she picked the leather ball up, handing it to Heather's expectant hand.

"Will that be all?" Ali asked softly, smiling as she offered the sphere to Heather. Heather grinned back, wider.

"Ali," Heather said, beaming. "How would you like to be the Head of Operations?"

Ali thought that was a fascinating idea.

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The Garrison Test

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