Grand Commander Peter San Robinson was finding his new assistant’s incompetence irritating. The new recruit messages were supposed to be ready weeks ago. He was ready to have them sent out, and the arrangements for the initiation ceremony were already completed. Every operative in the Bahamas Teen Organization of Secret Service has already been briefed on their roles and expected behavior. His speech was already written, the traditional recruit medallions prepared and waiting in storage to be awarded to their prospective owners. His suit was even already out of the cleaners. The only things missing were the messages.

Grand Commander Robinson sighed heavily and looked around his office. It still made him wonder sometimes. The technology infused into every inch of the room was incredible. As the ceiling overhead became increasingly overcast in reflection to his stormy mood, he impatiently called for his secretary.

She opened the door before he had even finished. Dressed in the uniform black and silver two piece required by her station, Debra Campbell casually leaned against the wall nearest to her. Though she was one of the few adults in the BTOSS, she still retained some teenage tendencies.

“You shouted, Grand Commander, sir?”

The Grand Commander balled his fist in outrage. Complete lack of professionalism!! Her headset hung around her neck, and something that sounded an awful lot like pop music made its way faintly across the room. He fought not to shout at her, as that could lead to a very ugly situation. The scent of nail polish wafted through the room blatantly and he looked down to see she was barefooted, and half of her toenails were painted orange and it looked as if she was in the process of painting the other half.

Although seething, Commander Robinson decided that finding out the status on the recruit messages were top priority. He would lecture her on proper office behaviour and professionalism later.

“Please,” he said through barely moving lips,” find High Assistant Johnson and get him into this office as soon as possible.”

“Preferably the next ten minutes”, he added hurriedly.

“Yes, Grand Commander, sir?’

He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to correct her horrible posture and everything else she was doing wrong. He exhaled and opened his eyes.

“Could you bring me some coffee, please? Preferably black with lots of sugar.”

She smiled, looking relieved. “You want fries with that?”

Commander Robinson was floored. “What?”

She let out a short, high-pitched giggle. “Just kidding, sir”

She left him staring at the partially opened doorway she had just vacated, thinking feverishly.

What on earth happened to this organization? When I was an operative this kind of slackness would NOT have been tolerated. Pop music on the organization’s head sets? You would have been demoted! Or worse! I don’t believe it. Walking around BAREFOOTED! Has the world gone mad? I must correct this. I must write a memo and send it out to everyone in the organization, including the new recruits. They must know that this slackness will not be tolerated. It will not be! I will see to it. If my former Senior Commander --

Grand Commander Robinson was so lost in his thoughts that he did not hear High Assistant to the Grand Commander Robert Cyrus Johnson timidly clearing his throat, trying to get the Commander’s attention.

He had been standing there for a while, and at first he had even started to give his report on the recruit messages. He had gotten as far as telling the Commander they had already been sent out and not one was behind schedule, before he realized that the Commander was not paying attention.

The Commander, still lost in his thoughts, had now absentmindedly begun rotating his chair. He was quite startled when he saw Johnson standing in front of his desk. His personal train of thought raced back to its original point. Glaring at his young assistant, he righted himself in his chair.

“Where have you been, Johnson? I’ve been trying to find you all morning. I need that report on those recruit messages. I need to dictate a memo to you. I need you to make sure everything is in order. So what are you waiting for, Johnson? Give me the report!”

“W-w-well s-sir, th-the m-messages a-are --”

“Stop with the stuttering, boy!”

Johnson gulped. Though he had only occupied this position for little over two weeks, he knew already not to make the Commander angry, something he seemed to have an adept ability to do. He just wasn’t the talking kind of person. And the Grand Commander was almost always upset about something, and that didn’t help the matter. Give him a computer and some silence and he’s the happiest teen you ever saw. Glancing nervously at the overcast ceiling above, he proceeded, cautiously at first, but growing more confident the longer the Grand Commander did not make an outburst, to give his report on not only the recruit messages but a number of other things that the Commander had assigned to him earlier that morning that were the cause of his inappearance when the Grand Commander had first paged for him. When he was done he breathed a silent sigh of relief; the Commander seemed satisfied. Or so he thought.

“All the messages have been sent out, Johnson? Are you sure?”

“They’ve all been equipped with the programming to go straight to the various recruits?”

“They’ve been programmed not to be intercepted by parents or any other adults?”

“You ensured that they were all toddler-proof?”

“Have your people sent out the electronic mail confirmations?

“The Message is clear and precise? Nothing can be misunderstood? Remember, Johnson, these are teenagers. While they’re smarter than children, they are not as smart as adults.

Johnson frowned and cocked an eyebrow. He took that as an insult to himself and every other operative in this organization. Being only seventeen himself, he knew there were still a lot of things he had to learn to be a competent adult by society’s standards, but in truth he was light years ahead of most adults he knew. How many of them had invented and organized the communications system of an entire secret organization, replacing the one invented decades earlier (in the Stone Age was his opinion).

“Yes, sir, Grand Commander, sir. I double checked everything before they were sent. Everything is in order.” He turned to leave, but the Commander called him back.

“Where’s my coffee, Johnson?”

“Pardon me, sir?” he asked, puzzled.

“Sir, you didn’t ask me for any coffee.”

“I know I didn’t ask you, Johnson, but I thought you would have had the sense to bring it in with you. Campbell was getting it for me.”

“Sir, Campbell was reading a magazine when I walked in. The only thing that looked remotely like coffee was the water in the vase on her desk.”

Johnson walked out of the Grand Commander’s office, stopping briefly to tell Campbell to hide; trouble was coming. More than a quarter way down the elevator shoot leading to the Main Atrium, six floors below the Commander’s office, Johnson heard the Grand Officer himself bellowing .Whether it was at Campbell, or because he couldn’t find her, Johnson didn’t know, nor did he want to find out.