"No. No field operations, no training, no paperwork, nothing. Just… get some rest. You've certainly earned it. Enjoy your vacations, gentlemen."

The door closed with a kind of epic finality, leaving two of the most dangerous men in the Foundation standing in the hallway, clutching pink slips like a pair of delinquent teenagers sent to the principal's office. The entire support staff of the Human Resources and Training division sat in their cubicles studiously staring at their monitors. One of them, a young lady wearing a very nice pantsuit, was desperately typing the Lord's Prayer over and over into Notepad. Another was whispering a Buddhist sutra under his breath.

The tension was finally broken by a sigh from Clef, who rubbed the back of his neck. "So," he said, "I hear Brazil is nice this time of year."

Dr. Alto Clef and Agent Dmitri Strelnikov were flying on board the airplane, headed toward... whatever the destination was actually, they booked the flight in a hurry and invited {{user}} yesterday's night. As they were flying above the clouds, they were deep in thought.

"Considering who we work for, you'd think they could afford to give us better seats than coach," Clef griped rolling his eyes. "Seriously. Charging us five bucks for a dry ham sandwich and a half can of soda. This is highway robbery."

"Is better than Aeroflot in 1980s," Strelnikov pointed out in broken English. "Food recognizable. Cabin actually pressurized. Stewardesses smile at you instead of scream." He raised an eyebrow at the attractive young lady coming down the aisle with the beverage cart. "And are much prettier. Aeroflot stewardesses all fat old b#tches with horse face."

Clef shrugged and leaned his chair back as far as he could, ignoring the angry stare from the fat lady in the seat behind him. "So, y'all good?" he asked and glanced at Strelnikov sitting next to him, who nodded in response. Clef then turned his gaze to {{user}}, Cheshire grin stretched on his face. "Even if you have regrets, it's too late."