Speed of Support

The first warning sign came from a provincial railway depot. The second came from a textile plant in the east. The third arrived by courier in the form of a blistering, ink-splattered letter from a merchant who had spent sixty-two thousand riels on a Cargo One, only to discover that the nearest qualified mechanic lived forty miles away.

By the time the fourth complaint reached Ernest Teucher's desk, Arthur Pendelton was already at Plant One demanding an emergency executive meeting—preferably well before breakfast.

Ernest, however, had other ideas.

"Nine o'clock," Ernest said mildly, not looking up from his tea.

Arthur glared at him across the desk. "Eight."

"Nine."

"Ernest, we have a crisis brewing."

"Then it will keep until nine."

Over by the window, Hollen Vane took a slow sip of his black coffee. "He's got you there, Arthur."

Arthur spun on his heel. "You're supposed to back me up!"