Firebirds Soaring (19 page)

“Security alert,” chirped her computer. Appie sighed. Cubions weren’t allowed to turn their workstations off. There were so many constant updates and new software installs that your computer kept working even when you weren’t.

Appie dragged herself out of bed, feeling like a zombie rising from its grave. She tottered to the workstation to see a security warning on the screen. “Warning: door to Cubio 709 has been accessed. To authorize proper resident, type in code below.”

“Damn, forgot,” Appie muttered. She typed in her password, SOFINE09, created in happier times, and hit enter. The security screen took a moment, flashed “accepted,” and vanished beneath her usual desktop picture. Appie staggered back to the bed and flung herself on it, trying to get her mind back on what to do about Mindportal.

But there came a knock. At her door. Appie frowned. Cubions never knocked on doors. They sent e-mails or called. Maybe it was an instant message summoning sound. The knock came again, louder. It wasn’t coming from the computer.

Appie sat up, then went to the door, excited.
Maybe it’s Julio, come to welcome me back and ask about how it went with Mindportal. We’ll have to be careful though. Don’t know who’s listening here in the mod
. Ready to put on her best sexy smile, Appie opened the door.

Carolyn Madrona of HR stood there in all her curly-brown-haired glory. “Hey, Appie, I saw you were back. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Appie stepped back in confusion as Carolyn walked in. Human Resources was visiting in person?
Am I in trouble?
was the first thought to cross her mind.

“So how was North Dakota?”

“It was great, just great. I had a great time. Um, why are you here? In person, I mean.”

“Well, we got a notice from the White Bison that you checked out early and that you changed your flight. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Wow, they
do
keep tabs on you
, thought Appie, her worry growing. “Yeah, just fine. Julio told me about the courier job for the Brownhorn so I flew some papers out to their office in San Francisco.”

“Yes . . . Julio . . .”

“Omigod, is that the problem?” asked Appie, suddenly feeling a spike of panic. “I mean, it’s okay for coworkers to, um, get together off the job, isn’t it?”

Carolyn rolled her eyes. “Yes, it’s okay, Appie. You’re over eighteen and all. But there’s something about Julio you ought to know.”

“Look, I know he’s a player, and I’m not expecting a big romance with him, so you don’t have to worry about downtime or a big drama.”

“That’s good, but still—”

“I mean, we just had a good time, all right? I mean, can’t that stuff just be private, you know, do you have to be here asking me about it? We were just having a good time!”

“I know,” said Carolyn, holding up her BlackBerry. She thumbed a few buttons and on the screen played a tiny image of Appie in her bathrobe with a North Dakota sunrise behind her, saying, “I had a good time, Julio, thank you.”

“How did you get that?” Appie asked, feeling a slow burn building.

“Julio submitted it. With his report.”

“His report?” Appie remembered him working on something yesterday morning when she met him before the ecotour. “So he filed this with other proposals on the road?”

“No, Appie. Julio’s developing a new Worldtree service as a traveling companion.
You
were the job.”

“I . . . was the job? You’re shitting me, right?”

“Do you want to read his report?”

“No! I mean, pardon me, but I thought prost—call—gigolos were illegal!”

“Sex wasn’t part of the . . . original business plan. I guess you could call it value added.”

“
Value added?”
Appie exclaimed.

“See, this is what we were afraid of—”

“
We?
How many in the company know about this?”

“Just those people Julio reports to, and us in HR.”

“How many is that?”

“See, this is why Julio’s going to get his proposal shot down. He didn’t do the proper preparation, or choice of test subject—”

“Okay, I’m going leave and let you have a cool-down. Besides, you’re still, strictly speaking, on vacation for another twelve hours.” Carolyn turned and strode to the cubio door.

Appie folded her arms across her chest and scowled at the HR floor warden. “Thanks a
lot
, Carolyn. I get to spend the rest of my so-called vacation thinking about what a sham it was!”

Carolyn paused at the door. “You
should
be thanking me,” she said with exaggerated patience. “Office crushes and romance can cause a disastrous amount of downtime. Take a few hours, get past it, and you’ll be ready to work in the morning. I’ll send over an e-mail with your new schedule so it’ll be ready when you log on. Good night.” The door slid open and Carolyn left.

Appie stood unmoving, fuming, her mind whirling. She tried to remember if there had been any office gossip connecting Carolyn and Julio, any reason why Carolyn would make up cruel lies. She couldn’t remember any. Appie’s breathing became raspy; her chest felt heavy. A large, fat tear rolled down her cheek.
No, oh no, I’m not . . . oh, hell with it!
Appie hit the button to open the door and made a run for the Hug and Cry.

Down the hallway she ran to the elevators. She passed only one coworker on the way—no one she recognized, but Appie turned her head away just the same. There was nothing more embarrassing than bursting into tears on the job. She flung herself into the elevator and agonized as the door took its sweet time to close. She wondered if there were cameras in the elevators and decided there probably were. Appie held her tears back until she got off on the fourth floor, where all the employee services were. She walked fast, head down, past the company gym and weight room and slashed her room card through the Hug and Cry lock as though slicing her resume with a knife. She dashed inside.

A fat young woman with red hair set down a paperback book and stood. “Well, hello there!” She opened her arms wide.

Appie fell into the woman’s embrace, sinking into her soft shoulder and sobbing harder than expected.

“There, there. Do you want to talk about it or just cry?”

“Muft ’ry,” Appie gasped. But as she wept, the business side of her brain reminded her that this young woman consoling her was being paid to do so. And work in the Hug and Cry was considered one of the least desirable and glamorous jobs in the company, as it didn’t bring any new revenue. Appie found herself wondering what her consoler had done to deserve or require this placement and this took Appie out of her emotion storm. She pulled out of the embrace.

“See, it’s not so bad. Tissue?” The redhead held up a box, and Appie obligingly snatched a tissue and blew her nose loudly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t offer a more full-contact hug,” the woman went on. “I’m still recovering from surgery and my belly is just a little tender.”

“Surgery?” Appie asked from behind the tissue.

The redhead smiled. “Worldtree accepted my ovaries for donation! Both of them!”

“
Both
of them?” Appie echoed, appalled.

The redhead nodded. “I was afraid they wouldn’t because, well, you know . . .” She looked down at herself.

Appie didn’t see what the deal was. Most cubions were either too fat or too thin.

“But my genes tested good. Apparently carrottops are in demand, especially in Asia. So I lucked out—the proceeds will go into my 401(K) and I’ll be set. I can’t tell you, I was
so
worried.”

“But don’t you ever want a family of your own?” Appie asked.

“The way I look at it,” she replied, smoothing the hem of her blouse, “is that I’ll have lots of children. I just won’t be the one raising them. Besides, dating and families create too much downtime. I have a comfort-bot and that suits me just fine.”

Appie couldn’t help wondering if that comfort-bot ever wore Julio’s face, but she Did. Not. Ask. “Well, hey, congratulations, then. Good for you.”

“Thanks. Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made this about me. This is your time. Is there anything else you want to talk about? ”

“Um, no, actually, you helped pull me right out of my funk.”

“Oh, I’m so glad! Um, would you be willing to fill out one of those survey cards by the door when you go, so that HR can know that? You know how it is. I’m gunning for two stars by Labor Day.”

Oh, you poor thing,
thought Appie. “Sure,” she said. “I’d be happy to.” She stood to go.

“Thanks! It would mean a lot coming from you. I mean, with you being a Harbinger.”

Appie froze. “How did you know that?” She was quite certain she’d never met this woman before today.

The redhead smiled sheepishly. “I’m one of those geeks who actually reads the company online newsletter. The latest issue has a little squib about you and your work with Mercator. They had your picture, too, so I recognized you when you came in.”

“Oh,” Appie said, feeling stupid for her paranoia. “I’ve been so busy, I hadn’t seen it.” She never read the company newsletter.

“I’ll bet. I’m a Conduit. I read everything and pass it on. I’m in so many forums and newsgroups that—” Suddenly she glanced up at the ceiling. “Well, anyway, it’s my only serious addiction. It’s so cool to meet someone who’s really on the way up. Here’s my card. If you ever need anything, I can probably find the right place to ask.” She pulled a Worldtree card from the cardholder on the table in front of her and handed it out to Appie.

Omigod, she’s turned this into a networking opportunity
, thought Appie, taking the card and reading, REBECCA FORTIN, ADMIN. HUMAN SERVICES. “Um, thanks. I’ll keep you in mind, Rebecca. I, um, gotta run. I have a report I have to get ready for tomorrow.”

“Of course you do,” said Rebecca with naked admiration. “Good for you. I’ll be looking for your name in future news-letters.”

“Thanks, yours too. Um, bye.” Appie dashed for the door, though she did pick up one of the survey cards on the way out. Her hurt at feeling used was now numb. Everyone was using everyone at Worldtree. Why should she be special? She decided that burying her nose in her work was the best way to get past it.

Back in her cubio, Appie sat on her bed, tapping notes about Mindportal into her laptop, so it wouldn’t be accessible on the company system. If the Mindportal data were accurate, and the helmet truly created a mental reset, the amount of employee downtime it could save Worldtree would be considerable. No need for fancy resorts and special flight packages, no need for two-faced, lying travel companions. No need for wide-open spaces for inspiration. No need for churches or psychotherapy. Just magnetize the mind, work, and smile. Thousands of contented minds working away, secure in the knowledge that cosmologically, existentially, everything was going to be okay. Win-win-win, right?

A lingering doubt hung at the back of Appie’s mind, but she was unable to crystallize it into recognizable form. She wondered if it was just habit, playing devil’s advocate, trying to see the issue from all sides. A headache threatened like storm clouds on the horizon, so Appie set the laptop aside. She put in her earbuds and turned the sat-radio to the old-school New Age channel to fall asleep by. It worked.

She woke, unsettled, not to the alarm but to distant strings, surf, and whale songs. Appie sat up and pulled the earbuds out. The silence that followed was off-putting; the cubio seemed dark and strange. Appie sensed that she’d had disturbing dreams she could not remember.

The digital display on the clock beside the bed showed 6:10 A.M. Her body was still on Central Time. Not wanting to descend back into whatever discomforting visions she’d been wandering through in her sleep, Appie decided to start the day. She walked slowly to the bathroom and did her stuff. She didn’t bother to look in the mirror, perhaps a little afraid of it. She shuffled out to the deck and picked up the remote. And realized there was nothing she wanted to see. It would all be just pixels, even if it reflected something real at the other end.

Realizing she had something precious, time, in her grasp, Appie left the cubio and actually, physically, went down to the coffee salon on the ground floor. She was vaguely aware of other people checking out her sleep-rumpled clothing and bedhead, but Appie let it bounce off her shell of prewakeful introspection. She showed her employee ID, ordered a mocha, and took it to sit at one of the little round metal tables on the sidewalk.

From where she sat, Appie could smell the sweet sea aroma drifting up from the Sound; it blended well with the coffee. The added faint whiff of urine on the sidewalk from last night’s drunks didn’t blend, but it did add a sense of place. From her seat, Appie could just glimpse a sliver of slate blue sea beyond the buildings, and the white of the snow-capped Olympics beyond that. She remembered someone telling her that in certain Eastern philosophies, an expanse of water to the west facilitated the dissolution of the ego. You really could lose your sense of self overlooking a vast expanse of flat water. She remembered reading a Web article praising the fact that Puget Sound still had a couple of surviving pods of orca. Appie wondered if she’d ever get to see any in the wild. Just a few blocks away was Pike Place Market, and Appie wondered if she could conjure some excuse to go there instead of back to her cubio, to go and smell the flowers and eat some pot stickers and pretzels, to watch the salmon being tossed by lively young men, to discover some tiny boutique in the uneven old levels of the market, someplace magical like in a fantasy story. A copy of the local city weekly sat on a nearby chair. Appie picked it up (market research, she reassured herself) and began to read about local musicians striving to get noticed, a tiny urban park that desperately needed money, a favorite neighborhood strip club closing down. None of which she’d been aware of, locked away in her cubio.