After a week-long voyage by airship, Technopriest Buran is almost certainly more than ready to return to the comforts and qualities of the Rephidim Temple, such as they are – even cafeteria food is starting to sound good. But as she returns to her quarters, she discovers there a note summoning her to Inquisitor Zeffel's office. Several notes actually… The last one requiring her to appear as soon as she has returned from Chronotopia, without delay.

Pausing only to drop off her bags, Buran is then led to the Saluki Inquisitor's office by one of the Temple Savanites… Chronotopia having prohibited Savanites from crossing its borders, the cheetahs are a reminder that she is back home, away from that regimented society.

The anonymous black-and-green collared Savanite opens the door, a plain hatch of dull gray ceramic, and steps inside and back, holding it so that Buran can enter.

Buran nods to the Savanite as she steps across the threshold into the office and into the candlelight.

"Ah. You must be Technopriest Buran," the dry-voiced Gallee behind the desk says. His reddish ears hang long and low from his head to his shoulders, the strands framing his neck to seem almost like a mane, but his canine muzzle is long and slender, marking him certainly not a lionish Khatta. He gestures with a hand bearing several small silverish rings to the seat in front of the desk.

The Sphynx nods assent as she seats herself, adjusting her wings so that they don't hit the back of the chair. "I am, sir."

Inquisitor Zeffel nods. "Very well then. I'm sure you have a great deal you want to get back to, since you're just now returned from Chronotopia. I am told their College of Practical Mechanisms is a must-see for any Technopriest."

Buran's voice takes on an excited tone. "Oh, yes, sir! Delightful!" But she chooses not to elaborate further. The Inquisitor, after all, is a busy man.

"Perhaps someday my duties will allow me enough time to tour it for myself," the Gallee says. "But I digress. Tell me, Technopriest Buran. How long have you been using drugs?"

The candles flicker. The air flows unevenly through the room, which is not included in the best part of the Temple's ventilation system.

Buran's left eyebrow raises, shifting the light and shadow pattern falling across her face. "Drugs? I can assure you, Inquisitor, that I have never taken any interest whatsoever in such things." Her nose wrinkles a bit in distaste.

The Saluki nods and makes a tiny checkmark on his ever-present notepad. "Perhaps not, Technopriest. Do you then deny knowing the intern in Medical, Lenoir? I am informed that he supplies you with your… 'vitamin supplements.'"

The little inflection in Zeffel's voice makes it quite clear that he considers their true contents nothing of the sort.

This time, the Technopriestess' expression changes to understanding. "Oh!" she says, "Those, sir, are indeed vitamins. I'm somewhat… " She pauses for a few moments, searching for the best word. "… intolerant… " of some things. I get sick without them, or if I eat the wrong thing." Her voice is tinged with some embarrassment.

"Then you may perhaps have an explanation why there is nothing in your medical records to show such a chemical dependency, Technopriest Buran," Inquisitor Zeffel says, voice hardening.

The Saluki taps a folder on the desk and opens it. "Several weeks ago in a random spot check, Lenoir was found in possession of dangerous addictive drugs, presumably obtained from a source outside of the Temple. Furthermore, after we went through his records, we found that he not only used such drugs, a violation of Temple laws which prohibit the use of potentially addictive drugs by our personnel, but also distributed these 'pills' to numerous officers in the Temple, under the pretense of filling out their 'prescriptions'. Of course they had no such things – merely forged documents to appear completely legal to all. They paid handsomely for the service, which allowed Lenoir to enjoy quite a second lifestyle indeed." He raises an eyebrow, awaiting some comment from Buran.

Buran offers, "If you wish to test me now for drugs, I will willingly submit to the test."

"No need for that," Inquisitor Zeffel says. "I've had your supply of vitamins confiscated for the time being. A chemist will be giving them an analysis to see whether they match up with any known dangerous drugs. If they don't, they'll be returned to you, minus however much is required for testing." He leans forward. "If they do, however, Technopriest, then you will be guilty of drug dependency, which is a firing offense in the Temple."

Buran looks alarmed. "Sir, I understand why you want to test them – but you should know that the longest I have gone without them is about three days. Any more than that, and … " she trails off. "I've gotten very sick before."

The saluki raises an eyebrow. "Withdrawal, eh?"

The Sphynx shakes her head. "It's more like severe food poisoning, sir. I … get sick, and I've fainted before." Again, an embarrassed tinge creeps into her voice.

Inquisitor Zeffel purses his thin black lips. "Perhaps so. If I were you, Technopriest Buran, I'd see Medical immediately and have this 'vitamin deficiency' story confirmed and properly documented. I'm certain that our chemists are working at their best speed, but Lenoir was apparently a very prolific individual. It will take time before they've completed their tests on all samples."

"You are of course aware," the Gallee points out coldly, "that proper documentation is the foundation of the Temple. Without records, our mission fails."

Apparently, this fact is true in the Department of Maintenance as well, for Buran seems to understand. "I will go to Medical immediately, Inquisitor, and make sure that my file is updated."

Inquisitor Zeffel nods. "Now, Technopriest Buran, are you certain there's nothing more you'd like to tell me about Lenoir… Or any of his other 'clients'?"

Buran thinks back to those occasional visits to Medical, both routine and not. "He was never unkind," she says, "and always willing to help. I never held anything against him, but he told me little of himself. He was always busy, but knew his work. I never had a reason to suspect him of anything," she concludes.

"The first one's always free," Inquisitor Zeffel says cryptically. "Very well then, Technopriest. You may go, but try not to be difficult to find when the results come back. I'll notify you as soon as a definite conclusion has been reached." He finishes writing on the notepad and gives the winged snow leopard a curt nod for dismissal.

Buran stands, bows, and quietly departs as the Inquisitor returns to his work.

The receptionist at this time of the day is a white-furred Kattha sitting on a cushion piled atop the usual rickety wooden chair. She looks up from where she was polishing her claws at the desk to the Technopriest. "You an Exile? That's going to mean paperwork."

A resigned sigh, the sound of one who has heard the question one time too many, is the response. "No, I'm not," the winged Khatta replies. "I have … unusual … ancestry. I am Technopriestess Buran, and I am here about a records error."

"A records error? I hope you're not going to try and blame it on us," the Kattha drawls. She puts the small inkpot-like bottle of polish away and blows on her clawtips, then drums them on the wooden desktop. "So what's the problem, Technopriestess?"

Buran explains the situation briefly. "I'd like to confirm that my … problem … is recorded in my file to avoid future embarrassments like that one. I will, of course, submit to any tests you may need to run." Silently, she adds, {If idiots like you can stop painting your claws long enough to do things _right_, these things wouldn't happen!}

"Your… problem?" The Kattha leans forward. "And just what is your problem, sugar?"

Buran's fur raises up slightly. Perhaps it's something in the receptionist's tone. But her voice remains controlled and calm. Too calm. "If I don't have those vitamins," she says slowly, "I get sick. Very sick. That isn't in my file. It should be. That's my problem."

The Kattha mms. "Well, I'll have a look, dearie, but if it's not in there… I don't know, I'll see what the book says." She stands and stretches, then flicks her tailtip and walks into a separate filing area.

The Sphynx, meanwhile, taps a claw on the desk, pondering how many Landing Days will have come and gone before the receptionist returns.

"Well, here's your records," a lazy voice drawls from the filing cabinet. "Only one Buran, thank the First Ones. Says here that you were a foundling. We don't get many of those. Let's see, your physician is Milla… Hmm. Says to see the attached sheet, but there isn't one."

The sound of a book being thumped open onto some flat surface follows.

Buran sighs. {Perhaps you lost it while trying to hide that nail polish from your supervisor,} she thinks. An ear perks in the direction of the sounds.

The receptionist muses, evidently not able to read Buran's thoughts. "Well, as far as I can tell, Technopriest, you have some kind of pre-existing condition, but there are no details here, so there's nothing to hang a prescription on. You'll have to have Dr. Milla test you again and sign off a new sheet to verify just what you need." She comes out of the records area and sits back down again gracefully. "Maybe they got lost when we sent them out to be copied so we could send the copy along with you to Chronotopia. They're big on records in Chronotopia."

The Technopriestess fixes the Khatta with a clearly annoyed glare for a few moments, then flatly inquires, "And when… dearie… is Dr. Milla available?"

The Kattha picks up a leather-bound journal. "Let's see. Mmm. Ah. Oh dear. She's on sabbatical right now, Technopriest, and is not expected to return for some months yet from Abu Dhabi. You'll have to make an appointment with one of our other doctors… "

The receptionist thumbs through the journal a little more. "Why don't I mark you in for Dr. Hammarkin? He'll have a slot free for, oh… Three days from now. At about ten in the morning."

Buran merely nods. "If I don't get sick before that," she mutters under her breath.

"Very good. That's… Technopriestess Buran, right?" The Kattha takes out a quill pen and dips it into an inkpot.

"Yes." The Khatta arches her whiskers forward, making certain that her name is spelled properly. One can never tell, after all, with these receptionists…

It seems to be correctly spelled indeed…

"Well, you be sure and come on by promptly," the Kattha says to the winged Khatta. "If you miss it, you'll just have to schedule another appointment. Be careful now, dearie."

The crowd is, as always, thick and loud. The winged cat makes her way through the room's entrance and surveys today's menu, mentally comparing each item to her mental list of 'uneatable without vitamins' items. Her choices made, she takes a tray and utensils, walking to the tail end of the line. She resigns herself to waiting for a good while.

The main entree seems to be waashu dumplings in stew… which leaves it quite out, of course. As Buran waits in line, slowly shuffling forward, a cheery voice behind her says, "Hey! Buran! Welcome back."

Buran perks an ear toward the voice, then turns to look over her shoulder. She tries her best not to bump anyone with her wings.

The voice's owner turns out to be a young Rath'ani… An apprentice really, by the name of Quinn. He grins up at her from where he's holding his tray.

Buran sees nothing at first, then looks down. "Oh, hello, Quinn!" is her answer. "You didn't get into too much trouble while I was gone, I hope."

Quinn pokes Buran in the side, mitigated slightly by her robes. "How was Chronotopia? You've been gone like forever! And all I got to do was hand tools to Technopriest Sylvia. She's good, but… " There is an infinity of buts in the way that the Rath'ani trails off the last word.

Buran looks briefly down the line, trying not to acknowledge her stomach's complaints, and then returns her attention to Quinn. "I learned a lot, actually. A lot of things happened… not all of them were good, but that's not a story to tell today." She smiles, hoping Quinn won't get an impression of Chronotopia as a bad place. "They're so much different than we are, here in the Temple." She shifts her tray to her other hand.

"A lot of places are very different," Quinn complains. "I want to know the details!"

The line moves like sludge through pipes… but it does move, which leaves Buran to contemplate rice pudding for dinner, while Quinn happily ladles waashu dumplings and a reddish-colored liquid into a bowl and adds some spicy sausages on the side.

Dessert for the day would seem to be cinnamon-dusted fruit tarts.

{Oh, the eagerness of the young. They don't know what can't be done, and they go and do it anyway. I was like that once… } Out loud, Buran replies, "Quinn, I couldn't possibly tell you everything. If I tried, you and I would still be here come the next Guy Fox Day. The Chronotopians are big on details. In everything." The Technopriestess eyes the fruit tarts as she ladles some rice pudding into her bowl.

"That's okay, I've got time," the Rath'ani says cheerfully. Quinn takes two tarts for himself, then eyes Buran's tray. "Hey! You should give yourself a treat at least." He reaches out to put one on the winged Khatta's plate.

Buran has to laugh at Quinn's enthusiasm. She lowers her tray so that he can reach it. "Do you?" she inquires. "Then things are quiet in our department for a change?" She looks a bit surprised. "I never thought I'd see the day… "

"Well, with those two… " It's not clear who Quinn is talking about. "… out of the way, at least for a while, things have been a little quiet. We don't have to try so hard to look good in front of them, I guess." The Rath'ani shrugs and grins. "So why aren't you eating up? Are you feeling all right?"

Buran pauses to fill a glass with some delicious-looking juice and another with plain, simple water. A quick glance asks Quinn, wordlessly, if he would like something as well. A sigh escapes, barely audible. "I'm feeling fine, Quinn. But I can't eat that," she continues, indicating Quinn's dinner. She doesn't elaborate further, instead asking, "I'm not sure who you're talking about. Like you said, I've been gone for a long time."

Quinn snaps his fingers. "That's it! You're on a diet," he says loudly, drawing the attention of several others in line. He leans closer. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. But I don't think you look that fat… "

Free of the line at last, Quinn leads Buran over to a table where they can at least sit down while they're talking, and enjoy – in the literal sense for Quinn, in the figurative sense for Buran – their food.

Buran follows Quinn to the table, muttering something about the young also not knowing what shouldn't be said, and hoping that no one will remember the young Rath'ani's ill-timed remark. "I've apparently missed something," she says mildly. "Care to tell me what?"

"Hmm, what?" the Rath'ani ponders a minute, then flips up one of the waashu-dumplings with his spoon and snaps it out of the air. "Hah! I've still got the touch." He wipes red sauce off his muzzle with a napkin.

"Ah! So you do," Buran laughs. "I'm sure the dumplings are as wonderful as ever." Her sarcasm shifts a bit to a curious tone. "You said you had to look good for 'them' – who might that be? I think I've been gone a bit too long… " This last is to herself as much as to Quinn.

"Anyway, I was saying," Quinn continues, "With those two… Tahir and Rhys, the candidates, you know, the ones who're in line to become the next Astromancer, out of the way, we don't have to sweat about keeping everything polished. If we look good, Sylvia always said, then they'll think better of us when it comes time to pleading the next year's budget. Or something bor-r-ring like that." He shrugs. "It doesn't much matter… I never even met Delwin, who was s'posed to be our candidate. He got killed, I heard… Funny thing, they say the candidates all look alike. Wonder why that is?"

More of the rice pudding vanishes as the conversation continues. "Hmm, I don't know myself," Buran confesses. She jabs a spoon at Quinn in warning, however, and her voice takes on its teaching-tone. "Don't underestimate the importance of that budget. Without it, the Temple would have fallen to dust eons ago… and you and I wouldn't be gainfully employed." An eyebrow raises. "One of the candidates was killed … how?"

"I don't know, but rumors say he got pushed off the roof!" The Rath'ani eats more dumplings, thankfully the normal way before continuing. "There was a big fuss over it, and Inquisitors everywhere asking you where you were at so and so time that morning and what you knew about it. I didn't know anything about it up to then, and then I found out who the candidates were and what it was all about in a big rush, you better believe me."

Quinn grins. "Anyway, you've got nothing to worry about, Buran, 'cause you were in Chronotopia all that time. It's just now they've stopped watching us like mother Aquilonians, and I for one am a lot happier that way."

Buran eats a few more spoonfuls of pudding. "I'm sure you are! Still… I hope it isn't a portent of worse things to come. But never mind! I'm sure I'll hear all about it later. Tell me. What's been breaking lately? Have you been showing off in front of Sylvia again?" She winks.

"She's no fun," Quinn gripes. "She won't even let me 'borrow' parts; we have to sign for them and everything." The Rath'ani chows down on fruit tarts. "But hey! I can't tell you everything. You have to tell me about Chronotopia too!"

The pudding gone, Buran also starts on her tart. "What would you like to hear?" A bit of fruit drips from a piece and catches on her pendant, requiring the use of a napkin to clean it off. "There's a lot to tell."

"Everything!" Quinn grins and settles in, drinking his juice.

Buran sighs, glancing at the clock. "All right, Quinn. But only until it's your bedtime." She ponders, then begins to tell him about the regular emergency at the School of Practical Mechanisms, when a senior's final project proceeded to demolish an entire laboratory…