Read a short excerpt from Kaliane Bradley’s time minister for June’s Book Club

The interviewer said my name that caused my thoughts to squeeze. I’m not saying my name, not even in my head. She had said it correctly, as people generally don.

“I’m Adela,” she said. She had an eye pair and blonde hair of the same color and texture as hay. “I’m Deputy Secretary.”

“Of…?”

“Have a seat.”

This was my sixth round of interviews. The job I interviewed was an internal post. It had been marked “Required Security Clearing” because it was left to use the top secret stamps on paperwork with wage tapes. I had never been cleared to this level of security, which is why no one welded me what the job was. When it paid for the general wage triple my current salary, I was happy to taste ignorance. I had to produce creaking pure qualities in first aid, protect vulnerable people and the lives of the home office in the British test to get this far. I knew I would work closely with a refugee or refugees with high interest in interest and special needs, but I did not know from where they were on the run. I asomed politically important defenseers from Russia or China.

Adela, Deputy Secretary of God knows what, hidden a blonde string behind her ear with an audible crunch.

“Your mother was a refugee, wasn’t it?” She said, which is a demented way to start a job interview.

“Yes, Mrs.”

“Cambodia,” she said.

“Yes, Mrs.”

I had been asked this question a few times over the course of the interview process. Uslely asked it with an upward lilt and expected me to fix them because no one is from Cambodia. You don’t see Cambodian, an early clown had said to me, then glow like a pilot light because the interview was recorded for staff monitoring and training purposes. He would get a warning for it. People say this to me a lot and what they mean is: You look like one of the late playing forms of white-Spanish maybe and also you are not a feature of a genocide spawn, which is good because it is of that juke.

There was no genocide-adjacent follow-up. (Any family there still Understanding of Moué? Do you each visit Smile sympathy? Beautiful country Darker with tears When I visit Visible on lower lid They were so kind. . .) Adela just nodded. I wondered if she would go for the rare fourth opportunity and pronounce the country dirty.

“She never wanted herself as a refugee or by forming a refugee,” I added. “It’s been pretty weird to hear people say that.”

“The people you want to work with are also unlikely to use the term. We prefer ‘posted’. In response to your question, I am the Deputy Secretary of Posting.”

“And they are posted from ..?”

“History.”

“Sorry?”

Adela shrugged. “We have time travel,” she said, just like someone who describes the coffee machine. “Welcome to the Minister.”

This excerpt is produced with the permission of Kaliane Bradleys The Minister of Time,,,,,,,, Published by Scepter. This is the latest choice for the new Scientist Book Club. Sign up and read with us here.