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The words were:
- analytical
- circuit
- digital
- eloquent
- memorandum
The stories:
- Digital circuit
- The dictionary is almost useless in the digital age.
- As analytical and eloquent as Lila is
- The Machine
- Ode to my Vibrator
- Sick and Beautiful
- Mother very thoughtfully made a jelly sandwich
- She just could've killed for a cab.
- Memorandum on the digital analysis of eloquent circuitry
- The night sounds drew him on
- It resembled more a freak and violent accident in an electronic factory
- Shanna had an analytical nature
- He re-read the memorandum. For the second time.
- Sarah walked up to me and shoved a piece of paper under my nose
- The digital clock on the battered desk read 3 am
- "You should be a poet not an engineer
Digital circuit
Eloquent memorandum
Analytical.
(Jeff)
The dictionary is almost
useless in the digital age. But u can still find words like circuit,
eloquent,
memorandum,
and analytical.
(Aidan)
As analytical and
eloquent
as Lila is, she was unable to express her feelings when she received the
memorandum
ending her project on the digital circuit.
(Jesse)
The Machine
The letter came to Susan late Wednesday morning
in an ordinary, white business envelope. It was hand delivered by Robert,
one of the young administrative assistants in the office.
Hi!
D.E.C.A.M.
It was almost 4:30 in the afternoon. Normally,
by this time Susan would have headed home to avoid the rush hour traffic.
Today, she sat immobilized in her chair, staring at the letter in her hand.
Who was D.E.C.A.M.? Why was her life in danger? In building "the
machine," she had merely carried out a delivery order for her firm. Why,
then, this personal vendetta? Is it because this crazy dude by the
name D.E.C.A.M. is so intrigued by the machine, or at least by her eloquent
description of the machine, that he is prepared to get hold of the machine
by any means? And he will stop at nothing short of his goal, even if it
means killing Susan? The possibility seemed too crazy to Susan and in her
mind, she tried to dismiss the letter as a hoax, but a cold, creepy sensation
descended her spine at the thought of entering her dark apartment all alone
that evening. The machine was still in her apartment!
She had been working on it for the last three weeks, mostly in the evenings,
to give it the finishing touches it needed. Its frame was built by the
engineers at the firm, but only Susan could have given it the state-of-the-art
qualities it now possessed. The job was highly classified. It had to be
done at a remote location, away from the inquisitive eyes of the entire
IT department. Thus, three weeks ago, the boys at the office had helped
her transport it to her apartment. It was done very discreetly, packed
up in a PC box, so that everybody, even the people transporting
it, thought that Susan was moving her office PC to her home. No one could
have suspected anything out of the ordinary. Then how did the facts in
the demo leak out? Who leaked it out? What if D.E.C.A.M. was actually one
of the partners in the firm that received the memo? Was D.E.C.A.M. just
one person or a group of people? Or was it really a woman? Oh, what's the
point speculating? Susan knows nothing, because the letter gives nothing
away. Should she notify security? No way. She cannot let security know
about the machine until it is safely delivered to the agency that had ordered
it in the first place. The law enforcemet cannot be notified either. The
only person she could talk to would be William Watson, the firm's Chief
Engineer. Bill was a friend. Though a happily married man, (she knew) Bill
was attracted to her. Bill's attraction revealed itself through lingering
glances, meaningful half smiles across conference rooms, unexpected but
kind and well meaning gestures that always left Susan feeling pleased but
a bit pink in the face. However, his mannerisms never showed anything other
than utmost respect and Susan was grateful for that.
Once in the corridor of her apartment building,
Susan put her left hand inside her purse and clutched the revolver, pointing
it toward the door. On the other hand, she held her key which she carefully
inserted in the keyhole. The door opened with a click and it was pitch
dark inside, just as she was afraid it would be. Quickly, Susan reached
for the light switch. Someone, who was even quicker, grabbed her extended
hand and yanked her to the floor. She fell, spread-eagled. For a moment, her heart froze with terror, but she
quickly gathered enough courage to sit up and look for her purse which
had fallen off her shoulder from the impact of the fall. That's when she
felt a sharp pain to the side of her head. It was a heavy blow from a blunt
instrument. Soon, she felt no more.
Two days later, Susan slowly awoke in a private
hospital room and looked around at the freshly white-washed walls and ceilings.
There were all kinds of bandages all over her body and tubes of every shape
and size protruded from her nose and mouth and some of the wounds. She
tried to remember what had happened, but her mind felt
numb. Suddenly, the familiar face of Bill Watson appeared on the doorway.
Susan was in a hurry, so she simply set it aside
and rushed out to attend an urgent meeting with the CEO.
She had no idea that it was Robert's last day
of work at the firm. As a result, by the time she returned to her desk
and opened the letter, it was a little too late to find out who it was
that had handed the envelope to Robert. In other words, Robert was no longer
around for questioning. The people in Susan's team had bade him good-bye
with a lot of hoopla -- a cake, a card, hugs and kisses, and sweet farewells,
especially from the young, attractive females in the team. Susan had missed
all that. As a reminder of the celebration, a lone piece of cake sat in
a paper bowl on her desk, drying under the blasting air conditioner.
The letter read as follows:
Your memorandum on the Naval Surface
Warfare Contract was rather eloquent. I envy you for being the "chosen"
one. The intricate and complicated digital circuits you described
baffled my mind. "The machine" seems to possess incredible analytical
capabilities as well as maneuverability. However, you must be aware of
the danger involved in carrying out the order. Are you ready to face the
challenge, Susan? Are you ready to put your life on the line?
"Bill's my only hope," thought Susan and desperately
reached out to dial Bill's extension. Her face fell when all she heard
was his answering machine. He had left for the day!
"Well," Susan gathered herself together, "I can't
sit in the office all night, I've got to go home."
Just before she left, as an afterthought, she
dialed Bill's number one more time and left the following message in his
machine:
"Bill, it's Susan. It's about 6:30 in the evening.
I'm heading home where I expect some machine related danger. If you get
this message, can you help? Look up my address in the red book."
As she packed up to leave, Susan felt the metallic
cold touch of a tiny revolver in her purse. It felt strangely comforting.
"Hi!" Bill smiled shyly and walked hesitantly
forward. "How do you feel?"
Susan tried to speak, but her throat choked with
emotion. Bill looked at her tear brimmed eyes and smiled,
"You'll be okay. But it was a close call."
With a lot of effort, Susan spoke, "The machine..."
Bill felt her anxiety and was quick to assure
her,
"The machine's fine. They couldn't take it. I
got your message and reached your apartment at the right time. I took 3
of the security guys with me. They were great, you know!"
"Who were they..." she meant D.E.C.A.M. and Bill
understood.
"A group of five crazy, computer freaks that
infiltrated our firm's internal security system and got a hold of your
memo. They broke into your apartment to steal the machine, but the machine's
automatic security system shut itself off. It actually made itself totally
inaccessible, kind of like an impenetrable cocoon. The loonies were still
prying at it when you walked in on them. They attacked you, but luckily
I rushed in with the security guys immediately afterwards so that your
injuries couldn't be too severe."
After a pause, Bill continued, "Would you believe
how crazy they are? They call themselves, Digital, Eloquent, Circuit, Analytical
and Memorandum!"
Susan smiled. She had heard enough. She was tired.
She needed to rest.
The machine is fine, Bill is by her side, and
maybe she too will be okay.
That's all she needed to know for now. She held
Bill's hand and fell deeply, blissfully asleep.
(Mitra)
Ode to my Vibrator
Oh, Eloquent Circuit
Such Analytical Buzzing
Digital, and Perfect -
Pressing and Pushing
M(mmmm)
e!
MOR!
AN(nnnn)D (more)
(y)um!
(Triskie)
Sick and beautiful
I'm standing in the middle of the street, wearing
only what sweet mother nature has given me: a conservative body and
a posh recyclable coat. You see, the eloquent shopkeeper assured
me that one day when it would have become all raggy, they'd make it back
into little ermines, just like the ones they used to make the coat.
Why am I standing there? I don't know exactly,
right now my direct objective is to maintain an analytical
pose. I'm trying to make a record out of it, even though 24 hours
non stop probably is enough to blow anyone's circuits. But mine
have blown years ago or so they keep telling me.
"Who are 'they'?", you ask me. Not the faint voices
in my head, no, they never remind me of the past. The voices usually
agree with me, and when they don't it's like a tempest in my mind.
No, 'they' are the ones who pop up the ropes in the eye of the storm. They
dress up in white, like angels, though naturally that's all make
belief. But hey, I have to write this down to remember that, keep
a memorandum as after a dose of morphine everything sounds all too
convincing.
Ah, but people, with the sun on your bare skin
all's well with the world. I'll probably be taken back soon by man
in uniforms, uniforms that have to make up for the lack of self confidence
they suffered from as a child. I think they arrest me out of personal envy.
Forced to wear those black clothes, must be scorching with these
temperatures and all. I shouldn't care too much about them. Actually
I'm a real sensistive person. I cry when in animal documentaries the
little baby seals gets beaten to death, but I like the blood, that's probably
why I cry.
Hey, thank you, thank you for listening, you're
pretty cool. We should meet again some time. You could be at my funeral,
I'm thinking of having a digital one, sir...sir?
(Lizzy)
Mother very thoughtfully
made a jelly sandwich while the children were making a general mess of
their breakfast. The sunlight playing through the window gave the table
a festive character, as if out of the blue a banquet would materialize.
Instead the twins turned mother's carefully dressed table into a domestic
version of the Normandy landing. I'm talking Omaha beach, baby. Mother
pretended not to notice since she was only going to be upset if she had
to acknowledge the carnage. She wiped her hands on her apron and went out
into the hall to call for daddy who was upstairs putting on his socks and
his shoes and wrestling with his tie.
As soon as mom left the room Franky leaned over
to his brother Johnny.
"I thought she'd never leave", he sighed.
"Yes, she can be so fussy", Johnny replied.
"Have you got the memorandum?"
"I had the most difficult time with the wording.
I don't believe how fast these toys are evolving. Last year it was all
analog, now everything is digital. They used to be powered with
rubber bands, now they have a circuit controlling their operation.
Next year you'll have to know quantum bloody fysics to get an icecream,
fer chrissakes".
"You don't have to be eloquent,
you just have to be analytical. Nobody's going to scoff you if you
put a word wrong, you just have to have your facts straight", Franky
said as he was smearing marmalade all over the table.
"Do I have to remind you of the potty training
massacre last year ?", Johnny inquired.
"Please, don't bring that up again", Franky
shuddered. The twins cringed at the memory. Adults never forget to take
off their trousers before going. When you're two, it's a whole different
ball game.
"See!", Johnny insisted as he took a spoonful
of cereal and hit the back end of the spoon to project the milk and soggy
cornflakes towards the kitchen ceiling. "You don't get the words right,
you get butchered", and he finished by tipping over his glass of cocoa.
The staccato pounding of feet on the stairs told
them daddy was ready for breakfast too. As both parents entered the kitchen,
Franky and Johnny put their tiny hands in the spilt cocoa and pressed them
on each other's brand new clothes.
(Ignace)
She just could've killed
for a cab. She went up and down the street, waving at cabs, but of course
it was saturday night and there clearly wasn't a chance in the world she'd
be home anytime soon. Ppl in cabs must've been standing at a less profile
spot, wish she knew where that was. Wasn't the first time she had been
stuck on Tottenham Court Rd trying to get home. But if she had been able
to learn from past experiences then she wouldn't have gone out with Mark
again, either. Yet she did and so here she was. The evening had been a
disaster. She had had the brilliant idea of bursting out of the restaurant,
like one of them scenes u c in the movies, except in the movies, the guy
usually runs after the girl. Alas Mark had just sat there staring blankly
in her direction for a second and then proceeded to eat his lobster. Good
grief, she had given up a free lobster too. Clearly she wasn't the brightest
person in the world. Not tonight anyways. She looked down at her shoes
and then quickly glanced at her digital watch. Bothersome! It was
2am and the streets were packed as if it was a saturday afternoon near
Xmas. She had to come up with a plan. She studied the situation analytically.
Standing there like a fool wouldn't have gotten her anywhere. She decided
to walk a bit further. Needless to say there wasn't anyone there, not even
cabs. She started going back and forth back and forth. Like a lil racing
car going over and over the same circuit, except it wasn't Lemans
and a BIG prize wasn't waiting for her at the end of the race. She was
still in the center London, clueless on what to do. She felt a scorching
desire to rush back to the restaurant and act as if nothing had happened.
But she couldn't. She had a dignity sumwhere and it was yelling at her
fur even remotely thinking of going back. A couple approached. She couldn't
stand couples. Must've been their first date coz he was very eloquently
explaining her the difference between Expressionism and Impressionism.
She was clearly gagging to get in his bed as soon as possible. Careless
of Monet, Manet and all them other, what were they...Painters? Coreographers?
She smiled to herself. She missed that bit of a relationship. When all
u wanna do is get in someone's pants and all they try to do is impress
u with their 5 pence knowledge on anything that might sound even slightly
cultural. It had never been that way with Mark. He was married and had
always been married. He had never tried to impress her. They just wanted
to get in each other's pants...and quickly too, coz then he had to go back
to his wife. Oh well. She had been happy for a while. Then it got stale.
Not the sex, mindyou. The sex had always been brilliant. But in her lil
memorandum
fur the future marriage was included. Except it wasn't someone else's.
It was her marriage. She got carried away with thoughts. So carried away
the couple swiftly stole her cab. She looked around. Oddly embarassed,
her rage growing by the minute. She looked at her watch again and slowly
walked back to the restaurant.
(Carla)
Memorandum on the
digital
analysis of eloquent circuitry
With a practiced hand and an eloquent smile which
speaks volumes on paper but is now recorded optically by the stylus
of a lone abbot, a falling star pauses to consult with the beast
within on the dimension of the fine line between the digital domain.
Analytical
abstraction is the prime motivator, but circuitous forces direct
outwards away from the child who observes, takes note, and files
another memorandum to the Powers That Be. The edge is the divisor,
but ultimately all is irrational if taken to a high enough degree.
The night sounds drew him
on; the chirping of the crickets, the croaking of the frogs, and all those
other sounds he had never bothered to identify formed a complex chorus
whose siren's call lured him outside, as always. Once again he was
beset with insomnia and was hoping that a long walk in the brisk night
air might lull his mind to sleep. For that was why he could not sleep; his mind refused to relax.
And the worst of it was that even in its hyperactive state, his brain was
still incapable of deep analytical thought. He would simply lie
there, alone in his bed, daydreaming, his only company and comfort the
sounds of the night filtering through his open window. There he would toss
and turn until his body grew as restless as his mind and he once again
succumbed to the urge to venture outside and walk along the path that led
from his house, through the woods, and around the nearby pond.
Tonight he abruptly halted his circuit
around the pond and stared up at the night sky. The sky was clear
and offered an unsullied view of the dazzling array of stars spread above
his head, like diamonds scattered across black velvet for his sole perusal.
As they might as well have been; he had always been incapable of recognizing
any but a few of the most commonly known constellations, so every night
brought to him a unique sight, unknown to any other individual. Although
he prided himself in the pursuit of knowledge, he thought in this instance
that ignorance indeed was bliss. Usually he could simply walk out
here, stare up at the unbounded cosmos above, and put his mind at rest
long enough to return home and sleep.
But tonight was different. He found himself
unable to appreciate the wonders spread before him. The chorus of
the night creatures, the faint stirring of the wind, the stars, the pond,
the rabbit he could see peeking at him nervously through the brush along
the path, everything; he could see it all in perfect clarity, he understood
the uniqueness and wonder of everything around him. He even understood
that he was supposed to appreciate all this. It was, he discovered,
what eased his mind so much on his regular nocturnal walks. The presence
of something awe-inspiring and beautiful had been completely lacking in
his life, until he decided to venture outside his house after dark.
He realized that it was not the soft, familiar music emanating from his
expensive digital stereo system as he lay awake in bed, or the exhaustion
of a full day at work, or even the exercise of walking around the pond
that lulled him to sleep every night, but instead the subtle beauty of
the song of the crickets, frogs, and other mysterious little night creatures
that put his mind at ease.
Now that he realized this and had framed it so
eloquently
in his thoughts, the night's power to mesmerize him was shattered.
It was if he had just received a memorandum from God, instructing
him that the free ride was over and that he would have to find something
of his own miraculous enough to fulfill his life. He supposed that
wasn't so bad. But what, besides the world around him, could inspire
him so much to live that he would be able to sleep well again?
Realizing that his legs were getting tired, he
started walking again. He thought about what sort of personality a person
would require in order to befriend a strange soul such as himself.
The best answer he could come up with was someone very much like himself.
But that wouldn't do; he didn't like himself that much at all, he realized,
and what he wanted was someone he could respect. As he reflected
more and more on what the perfect individual would be like, his thoughts
became less and less coherent, as finally his exhaustion caught up with him. Eventually his thoughts
devolved into simple daydreams. Perhaps he might meet some other lost soul,
shambling along this very path like himself. He knew this was very
unlikely, but still he imagined a shape appearing from the darkness before
him, a feminine shape. Their eyes would lock and in an instant each
would fully understand the other's plight, for they were both the same.
She would turn around and slowly they would stroll back along the path
towards his house, not stopping there but stepping into his house, into his room, into his bed. These
not unpleasant thoughts filled his mind as he finally drifted into sleep
in his own bed, a faint smile on his face.
The answer came from the loneliness that tagged
along at his heels constantly, a mongrel constantly worrying at its owner
but usually unnoticed. Its answer was short and simple; "Someone!" it barked.
He reflected on that answer a moment. Yes, someone. Another
human being. He knew the difficulties involved in maintaining even
the most informal of relationships with friends.
That was why loneliness followed him around wherever
he went in the first place. And usually he felt the better for it.
He didn't want to deal with the hassles and stress that actually knowing
someone required. Yet at the same time he knew he would never feel
satisfied until he had met someone with whom he could share his thoughts,
whatever they might be, at any time. The crickets and frogs and other
anonymous animals could never be his friends. They could never share
his thoughts, or disagree with him when he was wrong. They could
never shape him into anything besides the lonely, sleepless mess that he
was now.
(Sir Psycho)
It resembled more a freak
and violent accident in an electronic factory than anything man made.
A bunch of wiring here, a circuit board there, frankly, it looked
a mess. Or rather it looked as what it was, a new idea of the egghead par
excellence Dr. Samuel G. W. Moore.
Those who employed him where granted the permission
to call him Sam. What the "W" stood for nobody really knew, but some thought
it stood for "Great Wizard". If there was a possible solution which
entailed flip-flops or any other digital components he could provide
it. Sam had even provided solutions on questions that hadn't been asked
yet. He had all that his brain could wish for concerning resources
and time, or so at least the powers that be believed. But of late his heart
hadn't been in it. He had been yearning for... something. None had dared
to raise the point with him, especially since he seemed to continue with
his work. Slowly, I grant you, but he did proceed.
As suddenly as his moroseness had started it
disappeared in a frenzy of activity. The news about the fact travelled
quickly, thanks to the company grapevine.
Therefore the department heads hadn't been surprised
when they received a memorandum of the good Doctor. None of them
had to look at it to know it came from Sam. He was the only one not to
use memos. Everybody knew about his little quirk to use long words were
short ones could be used. Not that Sam was all that eloquent, far
from it. It was more the case of a love for the bombastic. The memorandum
for instance had contained the following phrasing :
"Dear Madam or Sir,
With utmost enchantment I request your attendance
to the demonstration of my latest brain progeny . It shall take place this
afternoon in the usual mundane locale. My laboratory will be made admissible
to you at two o'clock sharp."
On reading the memo some of the heads had muttered
"pompous bastard", but more out of habit than out of hostility.
Nevertheless, all were present now. None knew
what his analytical brain had devised this time and therefore they
hadn't got a clue as to what he had in store for them.
Afterwards, they still didn't know. Later that
day they even didn't recall attending a demonstration. Nor did they have
memories about their subsequent and frequent, almost daily, visits to the
lab. Some of them developed recurring strange and futuristic nightmares,
although mild ones. They always seemed to be variations on a same theme,
the theme being mind-control. Unfortunately for the department heads, none
could even recall those dreams. Sam, on the other hand, found that extremely
"propitious". Finally he had acquired the means to get the budget and the
"remuneration" he believed to be righteously his. That some departments
had to slim down to near extinction because of the suggestions he
planted in the minds of his subjects, by means of his nefarious device,
was just par for the course.
(Peter)
Shanna had an analytical
nature and wrote an eloquent memorandum for Bob to work on
the digital circuit.
(Bjarne)
He re-read the memorandum.
For the second time. Then, he read it again. As it completed the circuit
in his one-track mind for the third time, it finally started to sink in.
The memo itself was eloquent, even in its coldly impersonal digital
form onscreen, with the cursor flashing at the end, winking at him.
Most people wouldn't read into such an innocuous
memo all the sexual overtones that he was currently conjuring up. But,
then again, he wasn't most people. In the vaguely analytical poor
excuse for a brain that he had, he was seeing innuendoes and nuances that
most people would miss. At least, this is what he kept telling himself.
"Come directly into my office" was part of this 'steamy' memo. That phrase
alone sent his testosterone levels skyrocketing. Add to the mix that this
memo was from his sultry female boss, and it would be obvious that there
would be no stopping his already wildly out of control imagination.
He left his office, and quickly headed down the
hall, and turned left, towards her office. In his oversexed zeal, he didn't
notice the 'Caution: Wet Floor' pylon forbiddingly placed near the glossy
beginning of the freshly waxed tiles of the corridor before him. Out of
control, he skidded dangerously down the floor, and at the last moment
nearly caught himself and stopped. Nearly. He pitched forward, did
a half-somersault in the air, through the plate glass window, and found
himself in the middle of an impromptu swan dive. It was a long way
down, twenty stories to be exact, and absurdly, at about the 8th floor,
he thought to himself 'you know, maybe I misread that memo...'
(Barry)
Sarah walked up to me and
shoved a piece of paper under my nose, "Here, Mike" she snarled. I grunted
and ignored her. She started to impatiently tap her foot and I could just
feel her eyes boring holes into my head. I looked up at her blankly, not
comprehending why she was still there. She gave an exasperated sigh. "Get
your head out of those analytical reports and read the memorandum
already!" she very nearly yelled at me. There are several reasons I can't
stand Sarah. She's perpetually in a bad mood, unless she's trying to seduce
her way into a better position. She's pretentious. She doesn't use abbreviations
which is why she said memorandum instead of memo. She thinks it makes her
more professional. Apparently she's unaware that it just makes her look
silly. Mainly I can't stand her because the upper management guys are clueless
to her real nature. To them, she's some sort of holy angel. Which only
confirms my theory that the suits are from a different planet. But that's
another story.
Now, I don't have an altruistic bone in my body
so I picked up the memo and pretended to scan it, hoping that would satisfy
her and she'd go bother someone else. I'm no hero. I'd much rather she
go torment and torture someone else instead of me. But oh no. She stayed
right where she was her foot tap tap tapping away. I risked a peek up at
her face and wished I hadn't. She looked like she'd just eaten a lemon
and a couple of limes. I'll probably have nightmares. To spite her, I took
as much time as possible to read the announcement about the board meeting
today at 15.00. I figured if she was going to be pissed anyway, she might
as well have a valid reason. From the ever increasing tapping, I gathered
that it was working. I was also beginning to wonder if I should keep a
watch out for her shoe. The rate her foot was tapping I wouldn't have been
surprised to see her pump go sailing across my office. Finally I looked
up at her and managed not to shudder at the grimace on her face. I'm definitely
going to have nightmares tonight.
"That meeting," she snapped "is in 5 minutes.
You are expected to be there On TIME!" Every word was bitten off as she
said it and louder than the one before it. I was fascinated. How could
someone be so wound up over a silly thing like a board meeting? I just
gave another grunt and went back to my reports. She sniffed. I toyed with
the idea of offering her a tissue and asking if she was catching a cold
but decided it was better not to tempt fate. So I grunted again. What else
could I have done? "Eloquently put. For a buffoon!" she growled.
That's another reason I can't stand Sarah Jennifer Maruda. She makes comments
like that which make no earthly sense. I wisely let that comment pass too.
She heaved another sigh which was also part snarl and whirled around to
stalk out of my office. Her dramatic exit was ruined when her elbow clipped
my monitor and knocked my, as yet unanchored, digital camera to
the floor. By way of the metal filing cabinet, my desk, my other metal
cabinet and my steel toed boots. If it was metal and in my office, my camera
found it. I vaguely found myself wondering if it had a magnet in it.
Now, I could blow a circuit and really
let in to her but from the look on her face, she was expecting that. I
wanted to keep her on her toes, wary and unsure. That would be my revenge.
Besides I'd gotten the camera for signing up with a certain internet provider
and I pretty much didn't care that it was in bits on my floor. I wasn't
about to tell her That, though. So I looked from her to the debris on the
floor and back again and another time. I just kept bobbing my head up and
down like a bird. I was certain a snide comment would come to her mind.
About the fifth time up I could see the exasperation in her eyes. She opened
her mouth and I raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at my wreck of a
camera and then to the red spot on her elbow. She quickly shut her trap.
I resumed my bobbing. Again, she opened her mouth and shut it without uttering
a sound. She was starting to remind me of a fish gasping for air. I looked
away so as not to start laughing. That would only let her think that she
was off the hook. My glance happened to fall on the memo. A quick look
at my watch showed me that we had 48 seconds to get to the conference room
and still be on time. I looked back at her and said in a neutral voice,
"meeting" and started out of my office and down the hall.
She quickly caught up with me and gave me an uncertain,
measuring look. As I was opening the door to the conference room, she slipped
her arm through mine, put on a brilliant smile and gave a throaty laugh.
To say I was shocked would be an understatement. "Oh, Mike, you're so funny!"
she sing songed. I blinked. Was I in the twilight zone?
"Ahh you're both here. Excellent. Now we can get
started," Mr. Graves, the head suit at this meeting stated. Now I understood.
Sarah was going to be sweet and funny because the suits were around. Sarah
and I took our seats. "I called this meeting to announce some sad news,"
Mr. Graves continued. "Frank Hurley is retiring and that leaves the Lab
Manager position vacant. Sarah, Mike, one of you will fill that position."
My jaw fell open. Me?? In charge of the entire lab?! Sarah started cooing
and fluttering those fake eyelashes of hers before Mr. Graves even finished
his sentence. So, she'd been expecting this. Interesting.
I cleared my throat and queried, "Ahh, sir? Why
the two of us?" my question neatly cut Sarah off mid-coo. She glared at
me before she could stop herself. She quickly added a "Yes, sir, why the
Two of Us?" Mr. Graves frowned at her. Apparently, he heard her slight
emphasis on 'two' and 'us'.
"We're considering the Two of You" I swear he
emphasized those two words just to mock her "because Frank recommended
you Both." Again emphasizing that we were both in the running. Sarah looked
puzzled and shot a 'yeah, right He could do the job' look at me. So, she
knew about Frank's early retirement and about the recommendations or at
least knew that she would be recommended by Frank. What was she up to?
"You have to the end of the day to submit, in writing, why you should be
the one to replace Frank. I should let you know that we've already begun
asking the rest of the staff for their thoughts and opinions on who they
would prefer to succeed Frank," Mr. Graves finished.
I had to write why I was best for the job? By
the end of the day?? I'd be lucky if the idea of being L.M. had sunk in
by then! Don't get me wrong, I have ambition and I've idled away some hours
pondering what it'd be like to be the L.M. but to have that daydream potentially
become a reality - it was mind boggling! I wasn't so engrossed in my shock
that I didn't notice Sarah's hateful glare at me before she stalked out.
Mr. Graves gave her a speculative look and jotted something down in his
notebook. I gave a nod and murmed something like 'see you later' and walked
out myself. I didn't see any sign of Sarah in the hallway. I went back
to my office by way of the break room. I needed some snacks and coffee
if I was going to finish my analyticals And write a why-I'm-qualified-to-not-blow-up-the-lab
letter before the end of the day.
When I got back to my office my mangled camera
was gone and a new one was on top of my monitor - attached and with a note,
"Try not to break this one". What IS Sarah up to? and how had she managed
to replace the camera so quickly? I put the camera through it's paces and
finally set it up to record on a motion sensor. So anybody coming into
my office would be recorded - video style. That should prove entertaining.
My eyes drifted to my reports and I quickly lost all thoughts of Sarah,
the camera and the L.M. position.
I was brought back to reality some two hours later
when Sarah showed up at my office with a bright smile. "Busy, Mike?" she
all but purred at me. I somehow managed not to gape at her. Who was this?
Did evil Sarah have a twin who had snuck past security? "No? Well, could
you come help me with something?" She asked as she took hold of my arm
and gave a tug towards the door. I didn't resist. For all I knew this was
a pod person and who knew how violent they could get? She lead me down
the hall, softly humming a cheerful little tune I'd never heard before.
I broke out into a cold sweat and my eyes were darting around looking for
something, or someone, to help me because I knew, Sarah was up to something
vile. She was acting too nice. I didn't want to yank free and bolt down
the hall because I had no proof of her intentions and I didn't want to
let her know that I was suspicious. Just as I was bringing myself to ask
her what she needed help with, we reached the end of the hall. She opened
the door to a stairway. A rarely, if ever, used stairway. She glanced back
at me and broadened her smile then motioned me on through. Being, apparently,
without any sense whatsoever, I walked on through. The last thing I remembered
was her cackling as I bounced down the cement stairs after her shove.
When I finally regained consciousness some weeks
later, all bandaged up and in the hospital, I found out several, very satisfying
pieces of information. Sarah was in jail. She'd been arrested for attempted
murder (that was me), murder, and blackmail. Apparently she'd found out
about Frank's little problem with morphine and was blackmailing him for
it. Which explains why he suddenly announced his retirement and had recommenced
her for his job. His fatal mistake was also suggesting me as a suitable
replacement. It had nearly cost me my life as well. My saving grace was
Sarah's own fault. The digital camera she had so thoughtfully replaced
had captured her entering my office to lead me to my date with the stairwell.
The camera had also recorded her returning to my office, sitting at my
computer and typing up my suicide note. Apparently, I was so distraught
at Frank's retirement that I no longer wanted to live. That's probably
the thing I like the least about Sarah, other than her trying to kill me,
that is. She constantly underestimates the intelligence of every human
being other than herself. All I can say is that I hope she stays just as
she is in prison. She should make a lot of "close" friends with her sunny
disposition.
(Gina)
The digital clock
on the battered desk read 3 am and the sound of rain and the loading of
the Mag. Lev. trains outside his window drowned out the sound from the
big clock on the wall. He knew the position he held in this company always
gave him the shittiest office, but then no one wanted to be near him. After
all who wanted his job. After a search of his office he finally found the
half bottle of Jack Daniels and proceeded to drink from the bottle whilst
he read the Omega level Memorandum sent down from head office:
Date 03-26-2050
New London
To - Krenchov
Destroy
all personnel and workshops dealing with New ANALYTICAL
processor APX42664.
Processor
to be saved and moved to Neo-Grande Labs
Yes he knew what the consequences where, he would
end up in a similar lab that had a similar "accident". It all fitted with
the scheme of the company, no one was to share this technology. All this
just to improve the circuitry of the Cyborgs the world wanted to
work in places no human should have to go.
He finished the bottle off, it didn't make him
feel any better, it never did when a job like this came up, even the illegal
cigarettes he was allowed to get from the black market couldn't do it.
After the great war of 2010 he'd thought his experience with digital explosives
would be over, then the megacorps where formed. It was just
like the war all over again but now companies decided who died and who
benefited. It still amazed him how men and women younger than he, dressing
more eloquently than he had ever looked even in his best uniform
could sanction death every day as if life was like the stocks they dealt
with, something to throw away when their usefulness was used up.
Well he had better plan the "accident" otherwise
he to would be replaced, there were too many people with his special skills
who might not like the job, but E-creds was E-creds and staying
alive is what mattered even if he didn't like it. He reached over and turned
the light off on the desk then made his way to the door locking it
after him.
From - Dept Y
Execution
date 0-28-2050
It must
look like an accident you know the Consequences
Dept Y
(Simon)
"You should be a poet not
an engineer", that's what Harry, the boss, told me. "that was sure one
eloquent memorandum about the analytical digital circuit. All that flowery
purple prose. YOU'RE FIRED Orton and if I ever catch you around this
firm again, you're dead meat".
So what could I do. A man can hunt for work but
without references he is sunk. I had a wife and kids to feed. Do you know
what it is like to look into their hungry eyes every morning and to see
them going without the latest clothes and Nintendo games?
At times like that a man only has his honor left.
So what could I do. I am an engineer as well as a poet, a software engineer
to be specific, but I am also a man of words which is why you are seeing
this little tale upon your computer screen. It is my way of informing you that a virus has just fried every hard drive
in this office. Next time think twice about whom you strip of their livelihood.
(Eileen)