Company - Max Barry [6]
“I'd better go see Sydney.” Jones looks around for her office.
Freddy laughs. Then he realizes Jones is serious. “Jones, you don't go see Sydney.”
“Why not?”
Freddy looks lost for words. He turns to Holly.
“You just don't,” she says.
Jones spies an office at the far end of the cubicle farm. “Is she in there?”
Freddy and Holly exchange a glance. “Yes, but seriously—”
“I'll be back in a minute.” Jones walks between Freddy and Holly, who wheel their office chairs apart to make way for him. Sydney's office is guarded by a large woman behind a tiny desk: Megan, the department PA. Megan, Jones sees, collects ceramic bears. She has bears dressed to go fishing, bears with T-shirts that say I LOVE YOU, bears with hard hats, and bears with Wellington boots. There are dozens of them, as if Megan's desk was the stage for an all-bear musical. An in-box is perched precariously on one corner, with several bears leaning against it as if they are trying to shove it off.
Sydney's door is closed. Jones tries to peer through the little square of glass set into it. “Can I . . . ?”
Megan stares mutely at him through brown glasses. Later Jones will realize that the only reason that Megan does not leap out of her chair and tackle him to the ground at this point is that she cannot believe he is actually going to walk straight into Sydney's office. He starts to turn the door handle, and by the time she realizes what he's doing, he's inside and gently closing the door.
Wendell's and Elizabeth's heads appear above the Berlin Partition. Wendell says, “Did that person just go into Sydney's office?”
“He's new,” Freddy says weakly. “That's our new grad. He doesn't know.”
Nobody says anything for a moment. Megan's shocked face turns from Sydney's door to the other employees, then back.
“Well,” Holly says, “he's gutsy.”
“He's dead.” Freddy sighs. “He didn't even have time to set up his voice mail.”
“Pity,” Elizabeth says. “He's cute.”
“I know,” Holly says.
“What's his name?”
“Jones.”
“Just Jones? What, like Madonna?”
“That's what his ID tag says.”
“Intriguing,” Elizabeth says.
“He's so young,” Freddy says. “How can he know anything?”
“Haaak-kah. Clearly, he doesn't. He just walked into Sydney's office without an appointment.”
“Hmm. Maybe the rumors are true,” Elizabeth says.
They look at her. Freddy says, “What rumors?”
“Well . . . I'm not saying I believe it, but . . . some people say the company is running a secret project. On level 13.”
Wendell snorts. There is no level 13: the elevator button after 12 is 14. But it is an old Zephyr joke that it takes a suspiciously long time to travel between those two floors.
“According to the rumors . . .” Elizabeth lowers her voice, “Human Resources is secretly scraping skin cells from successful sales reps and breeding clones in vats, to be released through the intern program.”
Freddy and Holly crack up. Wendell rolls his eyes. “I have work to do.” His head drops below the Berlin Partition.
“Don't take my word for it,” Elizabeth says. “Check if Jones has a belly button.”
“Mmm,” Holly says. “Maybe I will.”
“Better hurry,” Freddy says.
There's a small clack and Sydney's door swings open. It's as if the Training Sales employees' heads are connected to it by invisible strings: they all jerk around at the same time. Seven sets of eyes watch Jones walk all the way to his desk and sit down.
Freddy holds out for as long as he can. “Well?”
“Hmm? What?”
“What happened?”
“Oh. We talked. I think we got it straightened out.” Jones shrugs. “She was kind of busy. Most of the time she was on the phone.”
“You mean—” Holly starts, but Freddy cuts in: “To who?”
“Uh . . . somebody Seddon?”
Freddy rocks back in his chair. “Blake Seddon is in Senior Management.”
“So?” Jones is too new to Zephyr Holdings to see that a squall is developing here. The building is hermetically sealed, but Zephyr has its own weather: last Friday there was a high-pressure center over the telephone sales room; tomorrow a cold front of layoffs is predicted to sweep down from level 2. Right now a blustery rumor is gathering