Prologue
"We're having trouble finding him, ma'am."
Olanda Daniels stopped and stared down at the hapless speaker, the click of her heels continuing to echo down the corridor until they faded into infinity. The whole facility was made of metal -- metal floors, metal walls, metal ceiling. There were no decorations anywhere to be seen. Olanda considered such embellishments to be frivolous. She had always been a fan of 'practical'. It meant the establishment was somewhat imposing for those that worked for her, but she liked it that way. She felt it increased efficiency and productivity, two things she also valued quite highly.
Olanda herself was an imposing figure, tall and stern. It was rumoured that she had never so much as cracked a grin in her life, and Olanda did nothing to discourage such rumours -- they kept her subordinates on their toes. Her hawk-like eyes focused on the subordinate before her now. He shrank back against the wall.
"Explain," said Olanda, her voice as calculated and precise as a diamond cutter.
"Well, ma'am, you see, Nunavut is actually quite large, and it has all those islands and stuff. This Timothy person doesn't live in any of the larger settlements. It's proving quite difficult to find him." explained Frank Baxter, hurriedly.
Olanda pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. On it was written:
'Timothy Nerrivik
An igloo
Nunavut
CANADA'
She folded it neatly and placed it back in her pocket.
"How many people do we currently have searching?" she asked, threateningly.
"Ummm. Four helicopters, ma'am?" Frank suggested.
Like the strike of a cobra, Olanda's hand struck the collar of Frank's shirt, and she raised him off the floor until their eyes were level.
"Well, I suggest you make it five," she growled.
After a few false starts, Frank managed a feeble "yes'm", and was dropped to the safety of the metal floor, where he scrambled back a couple meters on hands and feet, and then turned and tore down the hall as fast as his stubby little legs would carry him. Olanda watched him go. Once he had disappeared around the bend, she continued on in her initial direction, the heels of her shoes resuming their regular rhythm. This Timothy would not elude her for long -- nobody ever did. Olanda took great pride in that.
The echoes of her shoes reverberated long after she was gone. Once they were absolutely sure there was no chance of her returning any time soon to check on them, they sighed in relief and faded into oblivion.
