tumbldown stories

The Changing of the Guard

(originally published January 2017)

Sidney coughed, subtly, or at least the way he thought was to cough subtly to get someone's attention, kind of a contradiction in terms as far as it ever went for Imran. He saved the progress he'd made in the office-spreadsheet disguised mode of GoonersWorld and pushed back, turning around to see what Sidney wanted.

If there was a weirder and more incongruous sight than Sidney standing at the edge of a cubicle door, Imran hadn't ever seen it – and you saw a lot of weird things growing up your whole life in Brixton. But in the familiar everyday Office-Space nastiness of the cubicle farm, Sidney's immaculate but subdued tweeds, his bloody non-ironic bowtie that he'd probably been wearing since they buried King Edward – no, no, he couldn't possibly be that old, not even Sidney, probably King George, the last one, though – it was so strange, at such a complete remove from everything, that on the rare occasions that Sidney ever came down here and Imran happened to see him passing through the corridors, he always had to look twice to make sure, make sure he wasn't hallucinating and seeing ghosts from another age, back when Britain was full of Sidneys and Sidney was BRITAIN in all caps instead of a fossil waiting for the government to hurry up and pension him off.

Imran looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Sidney fidgeted, like he wasn't sure where to start, or, maybe, how to address someone who he'd probably snapped his fingers at and called 'boy' when he was growing up. "Well; yes; I have, I believe, a spot of good news for you, m'boy – you've been promoted, as it were. But it is... eh... a slightly unusual promotion, which must involve you changing sections. And, regrettably, I can't tell you what the duties for that position might involve until you accept it." He adjusted his pince-nez nervously, thin white moustache quavering as though he expected Imran to say that this was ridiculous and there was no way he was going to take whatever this job was.

Accepting a position sight unseen was kind of crazy, but a promotion, even with a section transfer, meant a pay rise, and if he got one of those, Imran might be able to afford a move to a bigger apartment closer to the tube stop – or to keep the one he had after the next round of gentrification. Even if it messed up his regular raise scheduling, a raise was a raise and more money now was more money now. "Nothing? Is there anything you can tell me? Like the salary, or what? Do you have a transfer sheet if you want me to sign it?"

Sidney fluffed through the folder of papers he'd been holding and handed Imran a binder-clipped packet. "This is it here; if you'll look through it, you'll find, I believe, everything I can tell you about this position in advance. No classified information there, I believe; if you have any questions about what you may find in there, you can ask me, and I'm fairly sure I'll be allowed to answer." He attempted a chuckle, but it didn't go too well; Imran meanwhile was digging through the pile of papers. Special Tube Products Division section transfer, a copy of his mechanical engineering certificate – some good that had done him since he'd come to the ministry, but here it was – tentative LANCASHIRE clearance certification – he hadn't even ever heard of that level – and a creepily-detailed background check that included a handwritten opinion that Imran Abdulrahmad, British civil service worker, was probably not in contact with that second cousin who had gotten arrested in Turkey, signed off by a MI6 department head. If they were going to go this far, it had better be worth it. Eventually, Imran got to the page with the grade designation and worked out the correspondence – this was a two-step promotion, which even in the civil service was a big jump. He flipped a few pages further and found the sign-off form, then fumbled around on his desk for a pen.

He handed the signed pile of paper back to Sidney. "Well, here it is; I'm in. So, what's the job? What's this LANCASHIRE clearance stuff; what's so secret about this job that you can't even tell me what I'll be doing till I'm in?"