From Infinity Pools to Infinite Paperwork

I have returned from a very pleasant long weekend at Emily Resort, although “returned” may be an overly optimistic description of my present circumstances.

Emily sits beside a reservoir in Vynnyky, only a few kilometres from central Lviv, but it feels sufficiently removed from the city that one can pretend unanswered messages and administrative obligations belong to another universe. In my case, they frequently do.

I spent a respectable portion of the weekend walking around the lake, watching the water and doing absolutely nothing that could reasonably be described as productive. I also investigated the Wellness & SPA facilities with professional thoroughness. There are seven pools, an outdoor hot tub on the pier and a heated infinity pool with hydromassage loungers overlooking the complex. I considered this important research into the effects of warm water on an immortal traveller’s willingness to answer emails. The results were encouraging.

There was swimming, a little sun, several long breakfasts at TERRA and at least one moment when I seriously considered remaining beside the pool indefinitely. TERRA works with local Ukrainian ingredients and farm products, which I appreciated mainly because everything tasted substantially better than the emergency biscuits currently living in the deepest pocket of my coat.

Unfortunately, at 7:14 this morning, a pale green envelope appeared on my breakfast table.

There was no courier.

There was no dimensional disturbance.

There was simply an envelope bearing the seal of the Clovis Administrative Directorate and the words:

IMMEDIATE TEMPORARY ASSISTANCE REQUIRED.

In Clovis, “temporary assistance” means that somebody has discovered a room full of paperwork and remembered that I cannot die.

I was called into their pocket dimension before I had finished my coffee. I am now sitting behind a large wooden desk in an office that is far too elegant for the work being conducted inside it. The walls are green, the lamps are warm, the chair is comfortable and every available surface is disappearing beneath reports.

Incident reports. Transit reports. Gate-maintenance reports. Reports concerning discrepancies between earlier reports. One particularly thick folder appears to document the disappearance of three other folders.

The laptop is still visible, although only just.

Apparently, I shall be here all week.

My present task involves comparing seventeen months of dimensional customs declarations to determine why Clovis imported 4,800 umbrellas from a reality where it has never rained. I already know the answer will be either corruption, prophecy or an unfortunate error in a dropdown menu.

Possibly all three.

Still, the office has a buffet.

Nobody has told me what is on it, but the word buffet has preserved civilizations through darker moments than this. I am hoping for roast meat, potatoes and something involving pastry. If they serve only salad and mineral water, I may classify the entire week as a hostile dimensional event.

For now, I have coffee, a functioning laptop and approximately nine hundred pages left in the first pile.

It is Monday.

— Marco