"One wonders what they'll come up with next," Beatty says, the diminutive tree barely taking space in his gloved hand. That these people freely choose to endanger their fellow citizen for a fancy is something he can't understand. "Search them," he orders, tossing the offensive item in the portable burner. "Every pocket, every crevice, their lungs' air even, I don't care."
The last bag is being closed, its occupant the only one still fighting, when Montag returns with a stack of statements and his face disfigured by disgust.
"Eight adults, tree of them with first-degree genetic ties," he sums up. "They knew exactly what they were doing."
Beatty shakes his head. The life long sentence these men and women are going to receive would have been, were he to be in their place, even more devastating that the capital verdict they've barely avoided by complying with the half a dozen ban.
"How many hours are we going to lose?" he asks, looking at the swarm of officers flooding the crime scene.
"Twelve each on personal decontamination for the immediate response team, thirty-six for the cleaning squad additionally to the up to seventy-two hours it'll take them to vacuum seal the place. As for the neighbors on a three block radius, eight hours on relocation, a week on quarantine and an estimate drop of one point two months on both their current and newly assigned job's efficiency. The detour will add from three to twelve minutes on the public transportation system, depending on the route. Do you really want the numbers?"
Beatty shakes his head, no. He's going to read and sign Montag's final report; he can live without knowing the total figures until then. His counter blips, twelve more minutes before his air reserves are depleted.
"Have the B team search their assigned living locations. We still don't know where the hell they are bringing the damn pocket trees from."
"You don't think it is from beyond the borders." Anymore, Montag doesn't add, something Beatty is thankful for. If it turns out his assistant was right from the start and there's a domestic vivarium, life is going to become infinitely more difficult for them all.
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Re: Prompt 1
Date: 2011-06-02 02:56 pm (UTC)The last bag is being closed, its occupant the only one still fighting, when Montag returns with a stack of statements and his face disfigured by disgust.
"Eight adults, tree of them with first-degree genetic ties," he sums up. "They knew exactly what they were doing."
Beatty shakes his head. The life long sentence these men and women are going to receive would have been, were he to be in their place, even more devastating that the capital verdict they've barely avoided by complying with the half a dozen ban.
"How many hours are we going to lose?" he asks, looking at the swarm of officers flooding the crime scene.
"Twelve each on personal decontamination for the immediate response team, thirty-six for the cleaning squad additionally to the up to seventy-two hours it'll take them to vacuum seal the place. As for the neighbors on a three block radius, eight hours on relocation, a week on quarantine and an estimate drop of one point two months on both their current and newly assigned job's efficiency. The detour will add from three to twelve minutes on the public transportation system, depending on the route. Do you really want the numbers?"
Beatty shakes his head, no. He's going to read and sign Montag's final report; he can live without knowing the total figures until then. His counter blips, twelve more minutes before his air reserves are depleted.
"Have the B team search their assigned living locations. We still don't know where the hell they are bringing the damn pocket trees from."
"You don't think it is from beyond the borders." Anymore, Montag doesn't add, something Beatty is thankful for. If it turns out his assistant was right from the start and there's a domestic vivarium, life is going to become infinitely more difficult for them all.