IVi: the next morning, at the school’s common area. Various members of GVPD and the High School faculty walk about, some with clipboards, a few with cameras. The lights are naturally low due to pre-programmed weekend energy protocols; down each hallway, doors that are typically locked remain open for the preparations of the coming days; motion detectors have also been disabled. Distantly, a muted horn ensemble practices ‘On Broadway’.
PORTER: So, here’s ground zero, we could say.
SPRINGER: Why on earth would we say that?
PORTER: That’s what you implied last week—that students gather in this area most of all.
SPRINGER: I called it a ‘junction’, I think, as there really is no reason for students to hang out here—
MARROT: ’cept to study the trophies of glories past.
SPRINGER: But why would you bring in ‘Ground Zero’?
PORTER: Just a term. Where things start, where we can build from…
SPRINGER: Where New York was brought to its knees—
PORTER: Well, I didn’t mean that…
BOURBAN: I don’t think we were brought to our knees, Mary-Alice. Americans stood tall that day.
SPRINGER: Hey, I didn’t bring this up. It’s not relevant to the limitations of time we’ve got today.
BOURBAN: We’ll take as much time as needed. We’re going to do this right.
SPRINGER: As long as you factor in that I’ll need to stay after—on a Sunday, no less—to post a message to the community to stay away tomorrow, then another draft to explain what had happened, and—the tricky part—why.
BOURBAN: If you’re not up to that, I will.
PORTER: Yes, seeing that time is of the essence, let’s get started.
SPRINGER: Well, where are the actors? We can’t plan without them.
PORTER: The actors? It’s us, really—
SPRINGER: No, I mean the the ones who’ll play the terrorists.
PORTER: They’re, um, not available today.
SPRINGER: What? Are you kidding?
BOURBAN: Yes, I also assumed they’d be here, at least to understand what’s on or off the table in terms of a simulation—
BREAM: If I may, sir. (turning to PORTER, who nods his head, then to BOURBAN) I wasn’t here for last week’s visit, and while I can’t speak for the actors, there may be some advantage to their element of surprise tomorrow—
SPRINGER: their element, or ours?
BREAM: both, I suppose. We’re using blanks in our firearms and only smoke canisters which—we checked with the fire department—won’t set off alarms.
SPRINGER: Speaking of them, they also have a role tomorrow—why aren’t they here?
BOURBAN: Budget, Mary-Alice. We could afford them once, not twice.
PORTER: And we sorta represent their interest in this anyway. They’re aware of what to do.
BREAM: And that awareness is trained for in such simulations throughout our periodical reviews. The fact is, simulations cannot be over-prepared in the sense that everyone must react beyond the makings of a script, deal with the unexpected—
PORTER: That’s the ‘chaos theory’ you talked about, Jim.
BOURBAN: Well, I..
SPRINGER: I have to bring the chaos to some reasonable explanation before Tuesday morning, so—script or no script—we gotta have some plan, like when the show is over, arrests made or terrorists go charging through the community, kids collapsing in the aftermath, stuff that really underscores an event like this is never truly ‘over’.
GREEN: Yes, the nurses’ office would be overwhelmed—
DOSTUNE: counselors, too.
BREAM: That’s well said. We’ll establish a series of gradual stoppages to ensure we respect that need to transition.
BOURBAN: Maybe pray for heavy snow to close us down on Tuesday! Would buy some time, anyway.
PORTER: So, as time is of the essence—
SPRINGER: déjà vu.
PORTER: Let’s establish how we’ll find the place and who’ll do what. And speaking of ‘what’, what’s that sound coming down from that way?
SPRINGER: Jazz Band. I gave them permission to practice.
BOURBAN: Huh? This was supposed to be a confidential meeting!
SPRINGER: You can face the fury of Lou Vestral—I’ve got enough to do today.
BOURBAN marches down that hallway while PORTER points BREAM, MARROT and SIMMONS to pair up with SPRINGER, DOSTUNE and GREEN. They point at phrasing on their clipboards and directions spanning from the common area. Just as they are about to disperse, VESTRAL stomps in, a stride ahead of BOURBAN.
VESTRAL: This is outrageous! I’m not having my kids leave when they rearranged their schedules—
BOURBAN: Lou, like I said, this exercise trumps our individual schedules—
VESTRAL: Trumps goin’ to church as well, I see. We’ve practiced most Saturdays for 15 years ’til yesterday’s unannounced closure. Know some pretty pissed off basketball players, too.
SPRINGER: I didn’t know about them.
DOSTUNE: Was Billy Urskine among them?
VESTRAL: I think. Not sure.
DOSTUNE: He’s under temporary suspension, so…
VESTRAL: Is that what this is about? We weren’t even part of that fracas Thursday night—
PORTER: No, this is unrelated. We’re just doing…
BOURBAN: a routine protocol, Lou, that you cannot question or undermine. I’m sorry if communications were conflicting—
SPRINGER: I was told, Jim, to close up the school on Saturday; no one told me we’d have the same prohibition of entry today.
BOURBAN: But nothing goes on here on Sunday, especially Sunday mornings.
VESTRAL: ’cause we all should be at church!
GREEN: I go on Saturdays, by the way. Just saying.
DOSTUNE: Mine would be Fridays! Haven’t seen that prospect for a while.
PORTER: Listen, I think we’re fine if your kids stay in the band room. May give us a sense of realism, anyway.
VESTRAL: Realism for what?
BOURBAN: (sighing) Lou, you got your permission—let me walk you slowly back.
SPRINGER: And that’s how Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday is gonna go. Any volunteers to walk each member of the school community slowly back?
BREAM: I can be available. We’ll be debriefing through the week at any rate, and, I agree: we need to take the pulse of the community.
MARROT: I’m confused. No one’s supposed to know what’s going to go on—only us and those actors.
DOSTUNE: People will see vehicles pull up—
PORTER: Without sirens, they’ve been instructed.
DOSTUNE: But simulated gunfire. I know that would set in motion a mobile-phone freak-out.
PORTER: We could put on the cordons ‘simulation—do not interfere’…
BREAM: That would help…
SPRINGER: Unless real terrorists would want it to look that way.
MARROT: Huh?
PORTER: We’ll figure that out in due time.
SPRINGER: which is of the essence.
IVii: that afternoon, in SPRINGER’S office. DOSTUNE and GREEN sit at the small, round conference table and work off of a single laptop. SPRINGER stands behind her desk looking out the window, twirling the phone cord with her left hand and pressing the receiver against her ear with her right shoulder. In her right hand is sheaf of papers she’s able to thumb through like a deck of cards. Though the office is open, SIMMONS knocks obliquely, not to look in or be seen until called.
SPRINGER: (turning, still giving the phone a few more rings) Yes?
SIMMONS: May I come in?
SPRINGER: Certainly. Always when it’s open door.
DOSTUNE: An underused provision, in my experience.
SIMMONS: Thanks. I just—oh, sorry, I’ll wait.
SPRINGER: (hanging up the phone) No need… No answer.
DOSTUNE: If I may ask, was that to any news affiliate? Because we probably should troubleshoot any reporters passing through…
SPRINGER: No, and while that’s a consideration, I assume the PD would handle that prospect… Would you happen to know that, Sharon?
SIMMONS: Uh, well, um… I could run and ask the chief—he’s just been called and sent me to say they’d—well, we all would—be here 10am, as planned.
SPRINGER: Thought it was an hour earlier… That’s why I’m trying to get the actors’ guild on the phone and in the frickin’ loop.
GREEN: Sunday’s popular for shows—I bet most are putting on their stage face.
DOSTUNE: Funny to think about, going from role to role like a masquerade party.
SPRINGER: When was the last time you been to one of those?
DOSTUNE: Never. Though I saw the tragic equivalent in Afghanistan, brothers fighting brothers for betraying their brothers… I was just a kid when the Mujahideen were returning from the mountains, some to gravitate to Taliban groups, some to vie for university, some to harvest heroin, some to miss the Soviets…
GREEN: That must have been tough.
SPRINGER: Tougher than this week, to put it into necessary perspective.
DOSTUNE: Well, I don’t preach relativism, really; the life of anyone who suffers in our midst is always job number one.
SPRINGER: Agreed. And that’s what’s missing in my mindset right now. No one—maybe besides me, at the risk of self-pity—is suffering in this simulation, but it’s all about suffering to the extreme. I agree with what Petra said earlier: the aftermath is usually worse than the shock. And lock-down by lock-down we develop a weird sort of ‘before-math’, the looming of monsters yet (and maybe sure) to come.
DOSTUNE: Do you believe that?
SPRINGER: Do I have to?
DOSTUNE: Well, just that you’re the principal. Your beliefs have influence.
SPRINGER: I’m principally a witness of a thousand strands of process. What I do is watch how learning is or isn’t taking root, and maybe then I exert some influence. But again, no self-pity shall come forth! I know I’m grousing about all this too much, but I’m loath to tick it off a chart of protocols that demand some evidence of preparation—
GREEN: Nurses do that all the time. Preventative care and first-aid training—
SPRINGER: Yes, you’re right. Again, I shouldn’t grouse. This does matter in ways I’m not projecting well. We don’t prepare enough for Code Green, for instance.
GREEN: Me?
SPRINGER: (smiling somewhat) Code Petra, I’d call you, and that is as bedside manner as what I meant by Code Green.
DOSTUNE: Agreed. We also don’t prepare very well for Code Blue.
SIMMONS: They’re calling this thing at the station Codex Orange. As a fan of autumn leaves and pumpkins, I’d like to think that color is not a threat.
DOSTUNE: Some say someday we’ll be color-blind. I think that’s code for ‘not so prejudiced’.
SPRINGER: ‘Someday’ is beyond the purview of this work-week.
GREEN: We’ll let you get at it. You picking up dinner, Helmand?
DOSTUNE: (closing the laptop and blowing out his cheeks) A last supper of sorts? Just fooling. Mary-Alice, care to join us?
SPRINGER: I’ll need to be here for a while. Thanks, though.
DOSTUNE and GREEN exit. SIMMONS waves their invite off and, still standing in the same spot, looks around the office.
SPRINGER: (dialing the phone again) Have a seat.
SIMMONS: I didn’t mean to stay.
SPRINGER: Well, you’re welcome to.
SIMMONS: I just thought you might want a reader for what you said you need to draft…
SPRINGER: That’s nice, if not as Porter’s spy—
SIMMONS: Of course not. We both have clownish bosses—
SPRINGER: As a spy might say… (puts down the phone and smiles) Kidding! I’d love an audience for this thing. And my clownish boss, for one thing, reads between my lines, so I’d like you to imagine him doing that.
SIMMONS: In his underwear?
SPRINGER: What?!
SIMMONS: (blushing) Stupid way to say: reading privately or in public?
SPRINGER: Both. And forget about his underwear.
SIMMONS: Roger that.
SPRINGER: So, here goes. This is the easier one, which says what’s basically going on.
SIMMONS: Shoot. –so to speak…
SPRINGER: ‘Dear Golden Valley Community, as is vigilant and responsible in the operations of schools across the country, we at GVHS will conduct a closed lock-down drill on Monday, February 15, 2010. This day has been selected for its absence of students (Presidents’ Day is a natural holiday) and there will be no students or other community members on campus. GVHS is working closely with Golden Valley authorities—especially the Police Department—and therefore will appreciate your respect for this to be a completely closed exercise.’ End of paragraph.
SIMMONS: paragraph? How long do you intend?
SPRINGER: I have another to follow, but why—too wordy so far?
SIMMONS: No, it serves its purpose. And there’s nothing controversial—
SPRINGER: Well, that’s waiting in the next few lines.
SIMMONS: Ok, but for which audience? I think most would be fine with what you’ve just read.
SPRINGER: Paragraph two, maybe just for me: ‘As an administration we take the extenuating circumstances of our work very seriously. The decision—
SIMMONS: Wait, ‘extenuating’?
SPRINGER: Yes? too intrusive?
SIMMONS: I don’t know… read on.
SPRINGER: ‘The decision to post rather late notice of this drill is due to several factors. Lock-downs by definition are spontaneous and thus need to be practiced as such. The fact that this is only a drill does not mollify the real threats that necessitate our preparedness, and that conversation needs to follow. We ask your patience and cooperation as we attend these tandem needs: to be prepared and to be open about all concerns. Sincerely, Mary-Alice Springer, blah, blah’… So?
SIMMONS: So? it sounds right to me.
SPRINGER: ‘mollify the real threats’?
SIMMONS: It’ll help them study for their SATs.
SPRINGER: This if for the parents, really, and they’re long done with SATs.
SIMMONS: What’s your true worry about Dr Bourban?
SPRINGER: Do I know you well enough?
SIMMONS: Sorry, I shouldn’t put it that way.
SPRINGER: I like you more than know you. And vice versa with Jim.
SIMMONS: Is he a divide-and-conquer guy?
SPRINGER: Yes, and a faux-uniter. He wants a community in lock-step, especially on things like lock-downs. He speaks for safe zones and space to learn—and who can argue otherwise—and closes doors to questions of the same. We all have working definitions of the things we believe in—that was Helmand’s probe a little while ago—and to say we wear a common hat is, well, to deny we spend our most profound moments in our underwear. Maybe I should rephrase that: ‘we wear a common underwear’—
SIMMONS: but that’s not true, either. You could add a third paragraph on that.
SPRINGER: How we regard our underwear?
SIMMONS: Yes, our common underwear.
SPRINGER: You’re right, I don’t know you well enough.
SIMMONS: I should go.
SPRINGER: You can stay if you want.
SIMMONS: I’m a bit surprised they haven’t clued me into what they’re responding to—
SPRINGER: Why didn’t you go with?
SIMMONS: I’m off-duty, technically—shouldn’t have even come in uniform. Plus, Phil wanted me to tell you why he and Gus skipped out so fast.
SPRINGER: Did they look nervous.
SIMMONS: Not particularly. Why?
SPRINGER: I wonder how everyone will look tomorrow.
SIMMONS: Including yourself?
SPRINGER: Naturally. I’m fairly self-absorbed.
SIMMONS: No, you seem to care for far more than yourself. Your second paragraph attests to that: instead of covering your ass, as any of us do, you’re sticking your neck out to see what else is there.
SPRINGER: I’m hitting send with that endorsement of my vulnerability. School website, (tapping her keyboard dramatically) do your best and worst!
SIMMONS: See? Catharsis.
SPRINGER: You’re right. We’re in some kind of theatre. Or intermission thereof.
SIMMONS: So let’s split. I’ll treat you to a last supper.
SPRINGER: That’s plagiarism!
SIMMONS: Par for the course.
IViii: later that evening, atop the school. ONAIWAH and BARNADINE sit before a bunsen burner under a grill of something apparently they’ll eat. The attic space is dark, despite the two utility lamps hang at helpful spots between the rafters.
ONAIWAH: Think it’s safe to burrow for more stuff?
BARNADINE: Don’ know, Missus Barnadine—it sounded active for a Sunday afternoon.
ONAIWAH: You haven’ married me yet, buster. And even if you had, what makes you so sure I’d take your ’perialist name?
BARNADINE: Imperialis’, I think you mean.
ONAIWAH: What I mean is you ain’t indigenous for me to go changing names.
BARNADINE: So I should be Mr Onaiwah if this is s’posed to work out?
ONAIWAH: You said it, not me. Couldn’t hurt, though.
BARNADINE: Anyway, back to the burrowin’—which can’t be too often, understand—it seems we’ll have a free day tomorrow due to the holiday.
ONAIWAH: Which one’s that?
BARNADINE: Presidents’ Day—Lincoln, Washington and th’ like.
ONAIWAH: Who likes ’em?
BARNADINE: All of us should. ’Specially if we put on a show to tha’ effect. When we was kids it was only them two founding fathers—
ONAIWAH: Lincoln came after them—
BARNADINE: Yeah, I think that’s true, but anyway, Congress had the brainy idea to smash ’em together as one—less days off of school, more presidents to bow down to!
ONAIWAH: Including Obama?
BARNADINE: Rather him than some others. He’s working on our health care—
ONAIWAH: Believe it when I see it. Meanwhile, flip those grits ’fore they catch on fire.
BARNADINE: Wonder if anyone in this town is gonna do anything holiday-like.
ONAIWAH: Meaning what?
BARNADINE: Well, Sister Kenny and charity campaigns may do what they’ll do, and kids will sleep in an’ celebrate the lack o’ chemistry tests and such. But wha’ else? What makes a holiday in this grand country o’ ours, anyway?
ONAIWAH: Consciousnes’—or the chance of it.
BARNADINE: So, I’m the average joe and tomorrow I wake up more conscious of our presidents?
ONAIWAH: Better than waking up to middl’v th’ night knocks on your door.
BARNADINE: Amen to that! But you and me had lots of them such midnight knocks.
ONAIWAH: ’cause we break the white mens’ law, dumbshit!
BARNADINE: An’ how’s that relate to Presidents’ Day?
ONAIWAH: They all sign the laws.
BARNADINE: Obama’s not white, though. What d’ya call what he signs?
ONAIWAH: I call it ‘wait an’ see’. So tha’s my consciousness as today becomes tomorrow.
BARNADINE: Fair enough. These look ready now. Where did you say you got ’em?
ONAIWAH: Kitchen recycle. Still fresh.
BARNADINE: I don’ know—that’s a couple days ago.
ONAIWAH: Well, what did you bring home las’ night? All day pissin’ around, getting punch’ out at the park, found yourself a bottle though—
BARNADINE: which you’ve drunk half-way through.
ONAIWAH: What else I’m s’pose to do? Bake like Dolly Madison?
BARNADINE: Who’s that?
ONAIWAH: President wife.
BARNADINE: Obama’s?
ONAIWAH: No, but I hear she’s all into home-grown food.
BARNADINE: Maybe we should start a garden up here…
ONAIWAH: Under these lamps? Marijuana, mos’ likely.
BARNADINE: Let’s just see.
ONAIWAH: You wanna journey down? Maybe break into the vending machine?
BARNADINE: That would blow our cover, probably. I’ll risk this cuisine an’ sleep on it tonight. Tomorrow should be chance enough to explore what’s down there.
ONAIWAH: Thanks to Presidents’ Day.
BARNADINE: and to their wives.
ONAIWAH: I think you’re tryin’ to be romantic.
BARNADINE: We all sure need our holidays. And ways to keep our nose clean.
ONAIWAH: You still worried ’bout your nose?
BARNADINE: Took a beating yesterday. But no, not worried ’bout it being broke.
ONAIWAH: Just about it stayin’ clean.
BARNADINE: Rel’tively speaking. I like this place too much to see us booted out too soon.
ONAIWAH: Oh, I see. I promise I won’t sneak down to the vending machines.
BARNADINE: I’d understand—it’s freedom to enjoy a midnight snack…
ONAIWAH: But not if a midnight knock would follow.
BARNADINE: Pass me tha’ bottle, Missus Barnadine. I got a palate now for what we cooked.
ONAIWAH: Shouldn’ we say grace?
BARNADINE: To Greater-than-all-Presidents, thank you for this place!
ONAIWAH: Hal’luja to that.
IViv: the following morning, just before 8, eerily quiet for a Monday at school. DOSTUNE parks his car and heads toward the main entrance, the key to open it in hand. As he approaches, URSKINE slides out from behind a shrub, not at first catching DOSTUNE’s attention. Just as the door clicks open he dashes to ensure he’ll get in with his counselor.
DOSTUNE: Billy! It’s a day off, you must know.
URSKINE: Just get in.
DOSTUNE: Well, I can’t just—
URSKINE: You will or I’ll blow your balls off.
DOSTUNE: What? (noticing what may be a gun in URSKINE’S jacket) Ok, don’t push—let’s get inside as safe as should be.
URSKINE: Lock it up, just like you’re supposed to.
DOSTUNE complies, turns to URSKINE and shrugs, with keys hanging from his left index finger. URSKINE doesn’t take them and instead pushes DOSTUNE into the common area.
DOSTUNE: Where to, chief?
URSKINE: I wouldn’t lip off to a desperate guy with a gun.
DOSTUNE: Well, Billy, my whole career is about getting through desperation—positively, of course—and
URSKINE: Shut up! This isn’t your appointment to define.
DOSTUNE: Ok, I’m just trying to keep in character.
URSKINE: What’s that supposed to mean?
DOSTUNE: Nothing evasive. I’m the same Mr Dostune you’ve known for a couple years. I can’t say this is a pleasant way to come to work, but I’m ready to help you, come what may.
URSKINE: That’s awfully confident—pretty cavalier, in fact. So help will happen, come what may.
DOSTUNE: That’s what I said. And that’s what I mean.
URSKINE: Horton the Elephant, laying an egg.
DOSTUNE: Pardon?
URSKINE: Missed that, huh? Don’t have books in Afghanistan?
DOSTUNE: Not many anymore,…sadly. Can you tell me about this elephant?
URSKINE: For fuck’s sake, open your office—that’s stop number one.
DOSTUNE: And number two?
URSKINE: Depends on how you do. Incentives, see?
DOSTUNE: Ok. So this might be the time to ask: how do I know what’s in your jacket isn’t a squirt gun or only your hand?
URSKINE: Not going to do anything in front of surveillance cameras. But you gotta know how concealed carry works.
DOSTUNE: I do. I’ve been in your shoes before.
URSKINE: I don’t buy that. Just open the door and don’t do anything rash.
DOSTUNE: Ok, we’re in.
URSKINE (removing a Rugar from his pocket) Get over to that chair—not near your desk; I know you got a crisis button under there.
DOSTUNE: That is true, Billy, because it’s my job to help in crisis.
URSKINE: Or in my case, to help make the crisis.
DOSTUNE: If you’re talking about the temporary suspension from the team—
URSKINE: I’m talking about losing the whole house—you know the track record for suspended recruits!
DOSTUNE: I know that a drawn gun cannot help you in the least.
URSKINE: Unless that drawn gun convinces you to erase what you put in my file.
DOSTUNE: I haven’t put anything in your file, Billy.
URSKINE: Bullshit.
DOSTUNE: Not your university application file, at least. That’s easy enough to prove if you’ll let me.
URSKINE: I got a scout or two or three comin’ to every game now. What they know about me being suspended is much bigger than general applications.
DOSTUNE: Ok, so what do you want me to do. Talk to those scouts?
URSKINE: No—the opposite. I want you to go into the database and remove evidence of my suspension. Then tell Serentino you’ve seen the light—
DOSTUNE: I’ve seen the light?
URSKINE: You’ve seen that I’ve seen the light—whatever works. Make this suspension disappear and never mention it to anyone.
DOSTUNE: Bill, that’s a really trusting proposition. You’d watch me tap onto some ‘database’—whatever you have in mind for that—and assume that, poof, what people already know won’t question it.
URSKINE: They aren’t the issue—you are. You pulled me outta class and got that wheel rolling. Nobody else did—not even the cops.
DOSTUNE: So I keep my mouth shut, you keep playing for the scouts, the scholarship comes and you’ll never worry if I’ll spill the beans.
URSKINE: It wouldn’t matter at a certain point. I could kill you anytime I want, with various levels of satisfaction or return. I could wonder if you’d blackmail me like some jihadist—
DOSTUNE: jihadist? You really don’t know what you’re doing here, do you. While your plan hasn’t made any sense, at least I respect what has passed for your intelligence—
URSKINE: Shut up! Open your damn computer—stand as far from it as you can and make sure nothing touches underneath.
DOSTUNE: (heaving a sigh and moving lethargically) I assure you I won’t make any moves to that crisis button—
URSKINE: Just focus on what exactly you need to type in—
DOSTUNE: —not that anyone else is here to respond to a crisis call.
URSKINE: Oh, I know there’ll be people here. I’ve figured out the rabbit-in-the-hat.
DOSTUNE: What? It’s not rational what you are—
URSKINE: Just focus on the screen. Slowly click which icon you need.
DOSTUNE: (pointing) This one.
URSKINE: Don’t point and don’t talk. Just fill the fuckin’ password and get to where you need to change my status. Go faster!
DOSTUNE: I can’t go faster than the speed of light, or whatever drives the internet. (He clicks several screens and scrolls to what indeed is a message box in URSKINE’s student record. ‘Temporary suspension from extracurriculars for disorderly conduct as a spectator of a home basketball game, 02.11.10; reinstatement pending review. HD, 02.12.10’ highlighted and deleted.) Shall I log out?
URSKINE: Yes, and shut down. Good. Now move slowly away from the desk and over here.
DOSTUNE: What, you’re going to shoot me now? As if that tiny sentence weighs heavier than murder?
URSKINE: I already told you: I can kill you anytime I want. It aint for you to say. And as agreed, you will not say anything about this to anyone.
DOSTUNE: So, you’ll leave me and let me return to what I planned to do today?
URSKINE: Not exactly. Give me your keys and move where I direct you. Also, fork up your mobile phone.
DOSTUNE: And my wallet? my watch and gold teeth?
URSKINE: Just move it without another word. I think you know the day is on a hair-trigger.
DOSTUNE starts to respond but thinks better of it, then walks out of his office down the hallway URSKINE prods him. A rattle of a door from the common area cause them both to look that way before URSKINE forces their scurry in the opposite direction.
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