Company - Max Barry [7]
“Someone's getting fired,” Freddy says.
Holly says, “You don't know that.”
“Or maybe this is it. Outsourcing.”
“They can't outsource us! Who would sell training?”
“Maybe Zephyr is getting out of training.”
“That's crazy,” Holly says, but her voice wavers. Holly is well protected from layoffs because Elizabeth is unsackable. But outsourcing, the nuclear bomb of Human Resources' arsenal, would spare no one. “If there was no training . . .” Holly trails off, unable to express the horrors of a world without training.
Freddy jumps out of his chair and heads for Megan, the PA. She confirms that Sydney has been exchanging calls with Senior Management, but refuses to tell him any details. This is because she doesn't know anything, but Megan sits away from everyone else in Training Sales and is lonely, so she drops hints that she's holding something back in order to encourage future visits.
“Megan knows something, but she's not telling,” Freddy says grimly, walking through East Berlin without stopping. The turbulence from his passage causes a paper on Jones's desk to slide off, but in meteorological terms, Freddy is tearing up the carpet, pulling computers off desks, sending chairs spinning in a tornado.
“Who's getting fired?” Freddy asks Wendell in West Berlin, point-blank.
“What?” Wendell says, irritated. He was on zero points in hearts with Pauline about to go over the top, and had to close the program to stop Freddy from seeing it.
“Sydney's been on the phone to upstairs. It's about cost cutting, isn't it? Someone's getting canned.”
“Sydney's talking to upstairs?”
“That's what Megan says.”
“Well, that could mean anything. Don't jump to conclusions. Hak-kah.”
“Hey, guys,” Elizabeth calls across the aisle. “Are you having trouble with the network? I just e-mailed Wendell and it bounced back.”
“Haven't checked,” Roger says, not looking up.
“What was your e-mail?” Wendell says.
“I'm selling raffle tickets for the Social Club. Want to buy some? You can win a set of golf clubs.” Her eyebrows rise hopefully.
“Oh.” Wendell's eyes lose focus. “I'll, hak-kah, consider that when I get your e-mail.”
“They're only a dollar each,” Elizabeth says, rolling closer. “And there are many secondary prizes. Want to see?”
“I'm busy right now, Elizabeth.”
“Oh. Okay. Maybe later then.” She rolls back to her computer.
Freddy says, “So you haven't heard anything?”
“No. Why, have the others?” Wendell looks at Roger and Elizabeth fearfully.
“I haven't asked.”
“Leave it with me. I'll find out what's going on.”
“Thanks.” Freddy knows he can trust him. Wendell relies on Freddy to translate his outrageous expense claims into language acceptable to Central Accounting, a rare and valuable skill. Elizabeth and Roger are insanely jealous of Wendell in this regard. This year alone he has been compensated for parking fines, dozens of lunches, and a new suit, while Elizabeth's request for a new office chair was denied, forcing her to steal one late at night from Call Center.
Freddy heads out of West Berlin. Roger smiles at him as he passes by, which is so out of character that Freddy gets the heebie-jeebies. Roger is in the process of dialing someone, but he waits, his finger hovering above the number pad, until Freddy is gone.
“What's the story?” Holly asks.
“Nobody knows. Do you think we'd hear about it if we were being outsourced?”
“No idea . . . no one who's been outsourced has survived to talk about it.”
Jones says, “Why would someone be sacked? You just hired me.”
Freddy looks at him sympathetically. “You really don't understand this company.”
“There's a hiring freeze,” Holly explains. “Technically, we haven't hired you. We got you through the back door. See, toward the end of each financial year, Senior Management realizes we're going over budget, so they impose a hiring freeze. If an employee leaves, everyone else has to pick up their workload.”
“Did you have spare time before?” Jones asks, lost.
Freddy laughs so hard that his nose touches his keyboard.
“This went on year after year, but the