Company - Max Barry [67]
On the screens in the level-13 monitoring room, the tiny figures of the recently redundant looked blurred and meaningless, cartoonish. So as he exits the lobby doors, Jones is surprised by their sheer presence. There are a lot of people crowded onto the plaza outside the building, talking and shuffling their feet and fogging the chill air with their breath. Jones looks from face to face as a fresh bay wind whips up Madison Street and ruffles everyone's hair.
“Hey,” a man says. At first Jones doesn't recognize him. “They got you too, huh?”
It's a smoker. Jones has seen him out in back of the building. Once again, Jones realizes, he's an impostor. “Ah, no. I just came to see what was going on.”
“Oh,” the man says.
“Sorry. You don't deserve this.”
The man looks at him quizzically. “Why do you say that?”
Jones is surprised by the question. He realizes Tom Mandrake was right. And this is why they are fatalistic; this is why Alpha can safely ignore them. They think they deserve it.
Jones says, “Because you don't.”
The man considers this. Then, unexpectedly, he laughs. “Well,” he says. “Maybe we don't.”
Freddy surveys the new Staff Services department with horror. He hurries into the farm, hoping someone (anyone!) from Training Sales arrived early and reserved a bunch of good desks. He pauses at the coat stand to shrug off his jacket, then realizes his usual hook is taken. Of course, it's not his hook: his hook is (or was) two floors down. But Freddy is peeved anyway. He has so little; now they want to take away his hook? He flings his jacket over the top of the one already there.
“Ah, Freddy. Just who I wanted to see.” It's Sydney, in a sharp business suit so black it's like a hole in reality. “Tell me, is that dead pool still going?”
“Yeah, I guess. Why?”
“Oh, no reason.”
“I thought everyone in Training Sales was retained,” Freddy says, alarmed.
“Well, you never know,” Sydney says. “You never know what might be necessary in this new environment.”
“Not Holly. Please, Sydney, not Holly—”
“Who said Holly?” Sydney says, irritated. “I didn't say I was sacking Holly.”
“You asked about the dead pool—”
“Look, forget I mentioned it. I might not sack anybody.” She checks her watch, a glittering gold thing that dangles from her tiny wrist. “If you don't mind, I have an important meeting to get to.”
Freddy stands aside. He watches her wend her way through the crammed cubicles to reach the meeting room, knock once, and step inside without waiting for a response. Then he cups his hands around his mouth and calls, “Holly?”
Holly pops her head over a cubicle only a few desks away. “Hey, there you are.”
Freddy scurries over. The entire remaining Training Sales department bar Jones—that is, Holly, Elizabeth, and Roger—is squeezed into a single cubicle, leaning against desks or sitting in chairs with their knees touching. Freddy looks around in dismay. “Is this all the space we get? We should call Relocation Services.”
“We are Relocation Services.” Elizabeth points at a memo that Holly, her brow furrowed, is now reading. “Or, at least, they're one of the departments we've been consolidated with. They arrived an hour ago and took all the best spaces.”
Holly gasps, her fingers tightening on the memo. “We've merged with Gymnasium Management!”
“‘Merged' is one way of putting it,” Roger says. “We're much more important than them.”
Freddy says, “Um, I just ran into Sydney . . . and I kind of got the impression she was thinking of sacking someone.”
Everyone falls silent. Then Elizabeth and Roger speak at the same time. Elizabeth says, “Why?” and Roger says, “Who?”
“She didn't say. But she asked if the dead pool was still on.”
“Oh, God.” Holly's eyes widen. “Oh, God!”
“Why would she sack someone now?” Elizabeth says.
“I have no idea.”
Roger rubs his chin. “I understand that Senior Management hasn't appointed a manager for Staff Services yet. Maybe the managers of the old departments have decided to elect an interim leader.”
“Oh boy,” Elizabeth says.
“What?” Freddy's eyes flick between Elizabeth and Roger.