Company - Max Barry [98]
For a while, nobody in the monitoring room of level 13 speaks. Finally Mona breaks the silence, her voice small and hesitant. “What is he doing?”
Klausman doesn't answer. He doesn't feel outraged or shocked or even surprised; not yet. He watches Jones on the monitors and feels . . . dull.
“Doesn't he understand this company isn't real?” Mona says plaintively. “Senior Management doesn't run Zephyr. We do. What is he trying to accomplish?” She draws confidence from his silence; her voice rises. “We can sack half the people in that room if we want to.”
“No, Mona,” he says. “We can only sack all of them.” He glances at her and sees confusion in her eyes. It's mirrored in the eyes of the other half-dozen agents present. They are so used to being on the inside, Klausman realizes. They no longer remember anything else. He looks back at the monitors. “If we intervene, we reveal Alpha. And Zephyr is over.”
Tom Mandrake says, “There's practically no one from Human Resources and Asset Protection in that group. So long as we control them—”
“Jones knows how we work,” Klausman cuts in, irritated. He wishes Eve were here; he wouldn't have to explain the implications to her. “If he gains control of Senior Management, we can be sure other departments will follow.”
There's silence for a few moments. Mona says bravely, “I can't see how this will work. You can't abolish Senior Management. Zephyr isn't a democracy. It's a corporation.”
“I believe,” Klausman says, “that Jones is advancing the theory that those two concepts are not mutually exclusive.”
“Blake won't let it happen,” Mona says stubbornly. “He'll stop this.”
“Let us hope so,” Klausman says. “I'm sixty-three. I don't feel like starting again.”
Jones is beginning to think he's actually done it, that Senior Management has crumpled, when Blake's voice cuts through the tumult. He doesn't shout; he simply raises his chin, speaks clearly, and suddenly everyone listens. Jones has to admit it: Blake has presence. “Do you want the company to collapse? Because that's what I'm hearing. You want Zephyr to go bankrupt.” He rises from his chair and no one tries to restrain him. He straightens the cuffs of his jacket. His blue eyes rake the crowd. “You're unhappy about staff conditions. You think we don't care about your welfare. Well, you're right. Zephyr is not here to care about you. It's a corporation. If you were expecting a theme park, resign. If you're prepared to do your job, stay. But don't demand that we care. Zephyr can't afford to care.”
The workers grow hesitant. They are not totally sure how corporate finances work—from their perspective, it's easy to view Zephyr as an endless source of money, its existence neither threatened nor enhanced by how intelligently that money is spent—but Blake's words clearly contain some kind of truth.
“We did not hire you to fill your lives with happiness. Your welfare is not the goal here: Zephyr's is. You want to reverse that—put your own interests above the company's. Well, I'll tell you plainly: this would kill Zephyr stone dead. It would put every one of us out of a job.”
The employees' shoulders slump. Someone says, “Still, things could be a little better . . .”
Fear steals into Jones's body. He is not here to make things “a little better.” He's here to take control of Senior Management. Anything less will undo him.
Blake senses victory. His tone softens; he holds out his hands placatingly, palms up. “Look, it's been a long day.” He is the epitome of rationality—especially compared to sweating, wild-eyed Jones, standing on the boardroom table. Blake is calm, firm leadership in a five-thousand-dollar suit. He is exactly the kind of person you would want to be making decisions that affect your ability to earn a living. “Obviously, we're all a little emotional. Perhaps we've said