Dedication (The Medicean Stars Saga Book 1) Read Free Page B

the policy that changed the way life was lived in the country, the new building’s voluminous interior is filled with endless layers of management that only create paper. Several junior Senate members like Gavitte were forced to relocate their offices here when the more senior members of the Senate had insisted on remodeling the traditional building for Senate offices. While the senior members enlarged their offices, Gavitte actually embraced the move, because it made his job managing the hordes of managers that fill this building that much easier, not having to fight his way across town to get to their offices, but merely walking down the hall.
    As if to bring Gavitte back to the present reality, one of the personal crafts belonging to a senior member of the Senate from one of the ruling families roars over his head and settles on top of the dome capping the office building. Something so important to his schemes that he would not trust it to an electronic communication or a subordinate must have arisen. The presence of one of the powerful in this building is a rare occasion, usually followed by a political dog fight, which can spell disaster for someone in Gavitte’s position. The craft’s exhaust belches forth a line of black clouds that slowly dissipates into the haze hanging over the city as he mentally shrugs and continues up the stairs towards his office. He’ll need to learn what he can about the visit, but it is more important that he keeps his head down and out of this particular game until he can fully understand the pieces on the board.
    He reaches the airlock at the doors and passes through without incident, joining the throngs of overworked and underutilized government employees scurrying about on their important errands. Slipping across the lobby he enters a short hallway where the elevators stop. Ignoring their shiny and inviting doors that throngs of his fellow government employees are piling through, he pushes open an unmarked wooden door with a brass handle. On the other side he is greeted with the relative peace and quiet of a harshly lit emergency stairwell. It is only three flights up to his floor, but by the time he makes it his lungs, which still haven’t purged all the smog from outside, are screaming at him. He rests a minute before straightening his suit and stepping out onto the richly carpeted hallway.
    The few people he meets nod in greeting and hurry on their way, each footstep muffled by carpet and each greeting merely a matter of habit. Through the years he’s worked on this floor, he’s grow to recognize everyone by appearance, but he could count on his fingers the ones outside of his tiny organization that he actually could greet by name.
    His trudge down the hallway ends well short of the large corner offices at the far end, but he is far enough from the elevators and break room that it is time-consuming to fill up a glass with water. Unlocking his door, he steps through and into the vaguely musty confines of his office. The blinds are drawn allowing only small shafts of light to penetrate the otherwise dark room. He navigates through the stacks of paper and around the chair reserved for guests, this too with a stack of paper nearly spilling over the arms, until he reaches the side of the window. Opening in the blinds he lets the light fill his office, illuminating yet more stacks of paper that cover nearly every flat surface, except the floor. It is clean because the janitorial staff won’t empty your trash if they can’t vacuum. Sliding aside a relatively short stack of very urgent requests, he sits at his desk and makes sure everything is ready for his day to begin—no appointments until later this afternoon, no deadlines sneaking up in the next few days. Satisfied with the state of affairs, he exits his office and heads to the break room.
     
    *
     
    The morning passes like so many before it, papers in and papers out. The trail must be created; some things passed onto those with