Robyn's Egg (2 page)

Moyer carried coffee back to his desk and set out his things. Organization was the key to productivity and staying in the green. He placed a pad of paper and three pens in a neat line. If one quit working, which given their shoddy construction was practically a guarantee, its replacement was near at hand with no risk of going into the red searching for another. You can’t get to three strikes if you don’t get the first. Words of wisdom. Words to live by.

Workers filtered to their desks as the status board countdown neared fifteen minutes. Hugh Sasaki, the corpulent head programmer, settled onto his chair in the cubicle right behind Moyer’s and smugly kicked his feet up on his desk.

“Winfield,” he said, “did you see that Begat bombed another birthing center last night?”

Moyer didn’t know why Sasaki felt obligated to tell him such things. Moyer didn’t follow the news, Sasaki had to know that. Was it meant as small talk, or was he highlighting Moyer’s ignorance? Why bring up something like that just before the clock reached fifteen?

“They’re extremists seeking attention,” Moyer muttered. “I choose to deprive them of the satisfaction.”

“So you believe Begat did it?”

Moyer’s face tensed in confusion. Was Sasaki hinting at something, or testing Moyer’s gullibility?

“Are you voting in the election?” Sasaki asked.

“Of course.”

“Do you think it matters?”

“What?”

“What I mean is, by the time any candidate can reach the point of running for election to the board, they’ve been bought and paid for several times over. You only have the illusion of choice. You get to decide between the two candidates they put in front of you, but it doesn’t matter which you choose, they’re already in someone’s pocket.”

“Another conspiracy theory, Sasaki? In your world, who are
they
?”

Sasaki grinned. “Look around you. Who runs everything? Who owns everything? Who owns you? You’re a slave and barely even know it.”

The bell sounded and Moyer had run out of time for Sasaki’s mind games. In unison, the basement pledged allegiance to the Consolidated Americas and their trust and devotion to the CEO and Consolidated Board of Directors. The image of a woman appeared on the screen at the front of the room. She was severely lean and unattractive. She flashed a salesman’s smile and started exercising, the grin on her face never wavering. Everyone followed suit, mimicking her actions, everyone but Sasaki.

As calisthenics began, Sasaki smiled and raised his coffee mug to Moyer in a mock toast. Sasaki had a doctor’s note and was the programming equivalent of God at Digi-Soft. His non-participation was overlooked, a privilege no one else in the basement could claim. Sasaki logged in while everyone else engaged in mandatory exercise. The sound of his fingers striking keys spurred a few annoyed glares.

“Live long and prosper,” he said. It was some obscure saying from an ancient vid series Sasaki collected. He thought it amusing. No one else did. Sasaki already had a healthy head start before the board hit zeroes and the workday officially began.

Shortly after calisthenics, the office settled into the monotonous hum of work. Fingers rattled keyboards in a soft drum line. People engaged in conversations without pausing from work. Air hissed from the heating vents. And Moyer tried to screen it all out, the din, the distractions, anything that might disrupt his concentration and flow.

An explosion rang out from the back of the basement. Moyer reflexively snapped his head toward the danger. Security agents poured from the elevator and stormed the basement, dispersing in coordinated columns to surround every cubicle.

They hadn’t been drilling in the Circle after all. They had been amassing, organizing. Moyer glanced up at the agent stationed at his desk blocking his escape. Dressed in glistening black armor with a reflective visor concealing his face, he looked more machine than man. The tip of the agent’s wand glowed blue with charge. Moyer removed his fingers from his keyboard and faced forward as he had been trained. This wasn’t a drill.

Darting eyes stole glimpses of what was happening. An agent passing down the aisle bumped Moyer’s desk. One of the three pens kept in a neat row rolled away. Moyer compulsively pushed it toward its clones and peeked at the agent to see if there would be a reprisal. The agent eased his wand closer to Moyer’s face. Moyer heard it crackle, and felt the electric prickle against his skin. He worried how close the wand could get before current arced across the gap, and feared leaning away might be deemed a final transgression.

Somewhere under the shiny black armor, Moyer knew the agent was grinning. He could feel it. When the raid was over and the agents talked amongst themselves, Moyer was sure this one would brag to his comrades how he scared the skinny little programmer half out of his wits. He might embellish, adding a lie about how the programmer pissed his pants.

Up on the status board, lights turned red as productivity monitors detected the lack of keystrokes. Moyer was tempted to start typing to keep his light green. Three reds in a month was cause for rehabilitation. But he knew if he moved again, the agent would let him have it. As Moyer’s light turned red, his heart fell. He hadn’t had a red in over two years. The leash was that much shorter.

The booming voice of Louis Berman, the project supervisor, signaled a rare appearance on the floor. “Everyone remain at your desks and cooperate. We should be able to return to work shortly.”

Four agents converged on Hugh Sasaki’s desk. Sasaki screamed, “No, I didn’t do anything.” An agent prodded Sasaki with his wand and Sasaki convulsed to the floor. A pair of agents lifted his limp body under the arms and dragged him away. The heels of his shoes traced out a faint pair of marks across the tile from his desk to the elevator – a reminder.

Time seemed to slow as events unfolded. Moyer’s thoughts drifted untended. The surreal scene reminded him of antique comic books his father had given him, mementos from a time when images and stories were recorded on paper. Colorful superheroes lived among fragile yellowed pages, poised to thwart dark armies. He hoped then to be a superhero one day, to discover powers he didn’t know he possessed, to be the object of admiration.

He juxtaposed the bravery of his juvenile fantasies against his current posture, hands on desk, eyes forward, a frozen rabbit hoping it won’t be seen. In his youth, he would have thought himself capable of challenging the agent guarding his desk, capable enough to go to Hugh Sasaki’s aid. Right and wrong were simpler concepts then. Now, straightening his line of pens was all the rebellion he could muster. A layer of shame coated his fear like rancid icing on a moldy cake.

Agents retreated in formation as if they expected a counterattack from the programmers and engineers cowering at their desks. Within minutes they were gone. Hugh Sasaki’s chair sat empty.

An eerie silence and the fetor of terror hung in the air thick as smoke. A lone set of fingers clicking on a keyboard broke the stillness. More joined in, creating a swell. Soon, everyone was typing as if a flurry of productivity could wash the scene from their minds. No one spoke. The atmosphere was astringent.

Tension had been building at Digi-Soft for quite some time as the project deadline approached, but Sasaki’s arrest raised anxiety levels to a new high. Who would be next? Moyer knew he wasn’t the only one thinking it.

Chapter 2

B
efore lunch, Petro Martinez stopped by Moyer’s desk. “Let’s go out and get a bite on the Circle,” he said. Moyer nodded. He was grateful for the distraction. The office remained tight-lipped. Fear and stress were building to a head. But Petro, given enough space to talk would speak his mind, and Petro had sources. If anyone knew why Sasaki was apprehended, it was him. Moyer locked up his things and followed Petro up the stairs.

Sunshine warmed a cool October day. The sex shops and nightclubs ringing the Circle were dark, hibernating until the end of shift when the glare of neon and call of the barkers would seduce the bored. Restaurant owners swept away the ash in preparation for the lunch crowd. A few restaurants put out cheery bistro tables and chairs, but with the ash still falling, there were no takers despite a welcoming sun.

Tucker's Restaurant was opposite Digi-Soft, and as far from work as one could get on Freedom Circle. Most of the lunch crowd took the long way around, along the buildings, under awnings to keep the ash off. Moyer and Petro walked directly across the Circle and conversed along the way.

Petro said, “That was quite the scene this morning, wasn’t it?”

Moyer craned to see that no one else was nearby and spoke in a low voice. “Do you know what it was about? Have you talked to your friends upstairs?”

Petro shook his head and leaned in close, “I talked to them, but they didn’t know he’d been taken. They’re more in the dark than we are.”

“The whole thing was handled badly if you ask me,” Moyer said. “They should have waited and nabbed him later at his apartment, privately. Now because of the spectacle, the entire office is scared out of their wits.”

Petro raised his brows and gave Moyer a look. “I think they want us scared.”

At first, Moyer didn’t want to believe it. But it did address why such a show was made of Hugh Sasaki’s arrest. The more he considered, the more he sensed it was true. It fit with the increasingly oppressive environment at work. Deadlines were looming, and the fear of leaks heightening.

“I don’t enjoy this project anymore,” Moyer said. “There’s too much pressure, too much scrutiny. I don’t even know what I’m working on. I have a piece. You have a piece. Sasaki had a piece. And none of us knows what the other is doing, or what the program will do when it all comes together.” Moyer glanced at Petro who had his lips clamped into a tight line.

“You know, don’t you?” Moyer said.

Petro shook his head. “I don’t. I just have a guess.”

“More information from upstairs?”

“No. Nobody is talking, at least not about the Worm. I’ve pieced things together from talking to you and Sasaki, and from things I’ve heard in the rumor mill.”

“So out with it,” Moyer said.

“Do you know what really happened this morning?” Petro asked leaving no gap for a reply. “Moyer my man, the thud of Sasaki’s fat carcass hitting the floor was the sound of opportunity knocking.”

“What?”

Petro grinned, seemingly amused at Moyer’s confusion. “With Sasaki gone, the lead programming position is now open. They’re going to need someone to take his place. They can’t go outside. It would take too long. And you have the most experience. You’re a natural fit. The way I figure it, you are now on the fast track.” Petro leaned forward, a crooked grin on his face. He checked for eavesdroppers before settling his dark eyes on Moyer. “And as you advance, you might bring along a friend each step of the way, someone you can trust to watch your back.”

Moyer thought it over. There was a certain logic to it, and, he had to admit, a certain appeal. The extra money would certainly make Robyn happy. They might finally afford a baby and perhaps she could quit her job.

But there was no forgetting what happened to Sasaki. Would the person who stepped into Sasaki’s shoes face the same problems and suffer the same fate? The cleverness of Petro’s plan didn’t escape Moyer. He had concocted a scheme to advance on Moyer’s coat tails with no risk to himself. All the risk would be Moyer’s.

“I’m sure the company already has a plan,” Moyer said.

Petro looked surprised. “Don’t wait on the company. Go straight to Berman. Let him know you want it, that you have the drive.”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on Moyer, that’s your problem. You are too much of a straight arrow. You play everything up the middle. You lack flair. You’ll never advance that way. You need to show initiative, that you can think outside the box. What’s the harm in letting Berman know you’re interested?”

Moyer let out a deep sigh. “I’ll think it over.”

At Tuckers, patrons sat elbow to elbow at the bar when Petro and Moyer pushed through the door. Petro found a corner booth. As the crowd of regulars filed in and the noise level rose to a din, Moyer saw the tension ease in Petro’s face.

Moyer examined the menu. “Look at the price of meat,” he said. “It’s up again.”

“Kelsey and I have sworn off for awhile,” Petro said, “We can’t afford it with the new baby.”

Moyer nodded as though he understood, though in reality he didn’t. Petro’s baby announcement a couple weeks before came as a surprise. He had never asked Petro about his salary. They both held similar positions working on the same project, but Moyer had seniority so he assumed he made more. That was until Petro announced that he had a baby. Babies didn’t come cheap. Moyer and his wife had been saving for years and still weren’t half way there.

Petro hired in at Digi-Soft a year after Moyer. Moyer questioned the hire at the time. Petro had Jobe experience, a visually based programming language. He was illiterate when he interviewed and Digi-Soft didn’t hire illiterates or use Jobe. The company trained Petro to read, and to program in Ultima, which was the first time Moyer heard of the company doing such a thing for anyone. Petro’s gregariousness helped until his skills came up to par, and so did his uncanny ability to get inside information to fuel the office gossip mill. It didn’t take long for Petro to fit right in
—
a talent Moyer envied more than he would ever say. Moyer suspected Petro was related to someone in the company with a title and an office, a nephew or second cousin perhaps. It was the only explanation.

“Oh hell, that reminds me, Robyn has us scheduled for a poke-and-prod-fest tomorrow.”

“I beg your pardon?” Petro said.

“She has her sights set on a free baby, and the government has a call out for DNA.”

“Ah, the DeepSeas Initiative.”

“You got it,” Moyer said. “I've tried explaining to her that we don't stand a chance. When the government puts out the call for genetic material, they’re searching for the elite. What do Robyn and I have to offer? Neither of us is particularly athletic, nor brilliantly smart. But I can't talk her out of it. Her mind is set. And because of it, I have to endure hours of testing and probing, standing naked in front of a battery of technicians.”