The Code of Happiness (5 page)

He finds her in the lab with a tube of slime
preparing for a range of tests, the sliding doors of his entrance
noisy enough to distract her. She offers no protest at his
presence; rather she seems to be open to his company.

“What happened to you?” he asks.

Po assesses the petri dish in front of her. She seems
remorseful, at least on the surface. “It's never the same,” she
says. There's a perceptible shift in her tone, as if Jamie's
experience affected her too.

“Thank you,” he says.

She's quizzical.

“I know it was you who saved me.”

He returns to the pod, a key has been left in the
glass doors of the bookshelf cabinet. It's not so much temptation
as natural for Jamie to open it and remove the book that wasn't
there before;
The Caves of Liita
. Like the dream the pages
are blank. Another Foundation tease. It's no matter, he's been
energy free since he emerged from sleep and the idea of reading a
thousand page volume is low on his priorities. Po is on his
mind—and then in front of him—as the sliding doors open.

“Reading my mind again?”

“I don't read them per se.”

“But you do read them?”

Po's reluctant to talk about herself, however a
growing bond between her and Jamie allows the smallest of openings.
“It's a combination of factors,” she says, “purely reading minds
would be hell.”

Jamie's beginning to understand why she's the way she
is. To exist in this world with that ability.

“My 'gift' is manageable.”

“The foundation is sanctuary then?”

“I wouldn't go that far.”

“You're treating me differently, you know that?”

“Because you're changing.”

“I'm just tired, I don't have the energy to rile
you.”

“Could be that. But you're changing.”

“Said by someone who's been through this.”

“It's never the same,” she says. Po picks up
The
Caves of Liita
. “It's an advanced text, surprised it appeared
in the dream. More surprising because you hadn't seen it
before.”

“You can't be sure.”

She hops on the bed, glancing to see if Jamie cares.
He doesn't. She kicks off her shoes and lies back crossways, her
small feet dangling off the edge. “It's a rare book,” she says, “I
believe they're all accounted for.”

“Have you read it?”

“No, I haven't found the source of happiness.”

He doesn't know if she's serious. Either way it's
easier to hear this come from her lips than those of Ray's. She
seems more real than him, so it's natural he reclines next to her.
Po shuffles a little closer. She touches his hand, his smooth
fingers.

“So,” he says, a little unsure of where this is
heading. She hasn't run away, or stuck a knife in him, which is
nice. She replies with smiling eyes and squeezes his hand.

“
No, sorry, still haven't found the
source of happiness.”

She breaks into a smile. Laughter ripples through her
body and into her heart and cheeks. It's infectious. Jamie laughs
in hiccups and between the two of them it becomes unbridled and
unstoppable as all the angst in the world releases.

The source of happiness Jamie finds out is another
obtuse concept. Po's not even sure Ray has found it. For them and
the few followers left of the foundation it's become a holy grail.
Worthy, considering the alternative—joining the slavery of minds.
Po's tied to the hope of the other. She's sorry Jamie had a rough
time in the ionizer but argues for the necessity of profound
experience to strengthen him for what awaits. She leaves it at
that. Only so many beans to be spilt. She can't remember the cliché
of breaking eggs to make an omelette so her argument tails off. The
monster is just a reflection of who Jamie is, the sooner he
accepts, the sooner he'll face the next test. Jamie's had enough of
tests. He wants a job.

“Maybe you can help fix our servers? They're playing
up.”

“Job's that pay,” replies Jamie. The thaw is coming
to an end. Po seems tired of him but there's something about her
that cares.

“Be careful out there Jamie.”

“Was doing a pretty good job before I met you
guys.”

“It's not what I mean. It's different now, even if
you can't see it. The
negate transfigurantes.
” He doesn't
want to hear more but indulges Po out of politeness and the recent
improved relations.

“They congregate in places of power,” she says, “not
so much negative in an evil sense but making sure you're stuck in
their world.”

It's sad for Jamie, he concludes he doesn't really
understand her. Po seems distant, spirited away by a nonsensical
quest. He makes a half-hearted promise to look at their 'set up' in
his own time.

The refusal to continue went unopposed by Ray and,
without someone to rub against returning home, was anti-climactic.
Faced with a cold apartment, a queasy stomach, and an unmade bed,
Jamie was left with holograph messages. There's one. It's the blue
eyes. Jamie has another interview. It's a little odd because it's
at
unpronounceable
. It was a good thing they didn't keep a
record of his previous interview, she tells him. Jamie hopes for a
different HR executive, but more so that the position hasn't been
filled.

“Lets not make this difficult.” Grace hides her
embarrassment with a statement of blame. She sees the same man who
was there a couple of weeks before, not Po's version, the man who's
changing. Jamie catches himself, wonders how she was his fantasy
and shakes his head. Fortunately Grace's eyes are buried in her
screen.

“Well congratulations, you qualified this time.”

Thank you won't escape his lips, and it tumbles out
in the form of a cough.

Grace ignores him. “We'll be in touch.”

“And the job is?”

“We'll let you know in due course. But what I can say
is, you're very lucky.” Jamie loosens the tension in his shoulders.
“We have yoga too,” she says, “we'll send the offer and
agreement—and take your time, we don't want any rash decisions, do
we?” He would take the job right there and then, even if it was tea
boy.

At home he double-checks his firewall before
searching for
The
Caves of Liita
. It hasn't been
tampered with but his absence for a few days concerns him,
especially with the XXLI job offer. He questions his good
fortune—he wasn't a lucky person and decides to reconfigure his
protection before accessing the outside world. It turns out to be
unnecessary.
The Caves of Liita
draws a blank. He thinks
about checking the underground network. Any search that came up so
bare was a prime candidate for further investigation but it also
meant trouble. The Source Foundation must have tread on some big
toes back in the day, a likely explanation for why it looked so
wiped out. He's interrupted by the personalized agreement from
XXLI. A hundred-thirty-five pages he's required to read and sign
off on each section. He's an hour in before he reaches the code of
ethics. The first page is about bathroom usage. He signs off.

The midnight dog walkers are out in full force with
Jack Russell's and Chihuahua's, good urban pets to snap away
unwanted conversations. It suits Jamie fine as he heads over to
Vic's, a diner he used to frequent when he had a job. Now that
things are turning for the better he feels he can indulge. Vic's is
over energized with music and youthful customers. It's designed to
obliterate the environs, the unfulfilled lives. It's what he always
liked about the place. Masquerading as a house of edge and
attitude, it was in truth an ode to an age of innocence. When he
takes a seat, he's a little bothered by his reality. He's here to
satisfy a craving, a Congolese velvet chocolate shake. It arrives
teasing him, chocolate dripping over the rim. Not everything has to
have a meaning he tells himself. A sixteen-year-old girl slides
into the seat opposite; she doesn't introduce herself but parades
luminous yellow skin and a fake fur coat.

“That's some shake,” she says.

Jamie offers her a straw. It's too big for him
alone—that's the deal at Vic's—everything's too big, you attract
the other by the need to share. Sometimes you get freeloaders,
sometimes intellectuals who need someone to listen to them, and at
other times sixteen-year-old girls you couldn't tell if they were
freeloaders or destined to be intellectuals or both. Jamie slurps
with her and watches chocolate dribble down her chin. She's
flirting with him, and he plays along wiping the dark track off her
yellow skin. “Have you heard of the source foundation?”

“The rav club?”

She's so young, another generation away from him. He
slurps and, in the blink of an eye, she's whisked away by her
boyfriend who had been yelling ‘Zelda’ for a while.

On his way home he skirts groups of teens, cliques,
and homeless. He prefers the quiet of dark alleys in the early
hours where footsteps echo and his mind can churn uninterrupted. A
freedom of sorts. He reaches the corner of Henderson Street.
Saturday night in full swing. Youth in glitzy clothes swarm drunk
and high. They mix with blue lights and sirens before being hauled
into trucks and redistributed to their homes in the suburbs. On the
other side of the road there's a vending machine vying for his
attention. Something new. Another XXLI product. Now he's about to
work for them he takes an interest and decides to buy a latte with
random latte art. A barista pops up on a screen with a smile and a
wink and makes the latte as ordered. It's an effective recording,
when the barista hands over the cup, it glides out of the machine
at counter level. The latte art is of a perfect heart. The universe
is teasing him, he thinks. He must follow the ruse.

*****

First day uncertainties. A new environment. The tease
continues with Grace. It's not her doing, just the way the company
operates. She's to be Jamie's personal HR contact throughout his
stay, to guide him should any difficulties occur and chart an
effective career path if he so desires. Rapid progression and
rewards are an attraction for many employees. She touches the wall,
a safety deposit box slides out and she places it in front of him.
Inside is a silver ring.

“Put it on,” she says, “any finger.” He hasn't looked
at his hand this way before. He chooses his right pinkie, the least
important, the irreverent choice. The ring is loose at first but
after a few seconds automatically tightens around his finger.
“Squeeze it twice to take it off.” He does and the ring expands.
Jamie plays with it as Grace continues, “It allows access to your
department and work station.” She hands him a form to sign. He
looks at her. Another one? “Yes,” she says, “it's specifically for
your department.”

“Department xH?”

“You need to sign before I can tell you.”

“Do you have a pen?”

“Read first.”

Grace watches Jamie speed read and is there with a
pen when he's done. The black ink soaks into the paper. She doesn't
tell him what xH is. “Follow me.” Grace leads him inside the
elevators and shows him where to place the ring. Jamie's
disoriented by the lack of floor numbers inside the elevator. It's
only for this section of departments, she tells him. Still, he
feels the rapid rise of height in the pit of his stomach until it
arrives at unknown floor. A few steps off the elevator they reach
large silver and oak panelled doors.

“Are you ready?” she asks. Jamie nods.

“Welcome to Project Happiness.”

The universe is definitely playing with him.

Before Jamie is a huge split level office with thirty
foot ceilings, luscious tropical plants worthy of botanical
gardens, and twelve works stations filled with casually dressed
multi-taskers too busy to notice them walk in. His heart sinks a
little. Males outnumber females. One of the guys does see them and
bounds over. He’s a podgy chap with chocolate smudges on his face
and shirt.

“Halloo,” says the guy, “you must be Jamie.” He gives
Jamie a belter of a handshake and a wink to Grace. “Beanoe, the one
in charge.”

“I'll leave the two of you,” says Grace.

“Thanks Gracie!”

“As I said Jamie, you're lucky.” And with that Grace
escapes the office.

“Got a tough one there,” says Beanoe. He pirouettes
and lets out an ear-piercing wolf whistle. In an instant the office
turns into a party; balloons, streamers, disco ball, and a cake.
Jamie's bewildered.

“I know,” says Beanoe, “not what you expected. We'll
introduce you as we go—thank god you arrived—we've gone a whole
week without cake. Belgian chocolate too.” He pushes Jamie forward.
There's a message to the knuckles in Jamie's back. Beanoe's
confirming he's in control and not to be trifled with. Friendliness
at a price. Beanoe addresses the office, “Everyone, say hello to
Jamie.”

Everyone sings from the same song sheet, “Hi
Jamie.”

Immediately half his new colleagues are noses down,
back to work. Beanoe nudges Jamie again.

“
Oh. Hi.”

“A little shy,” says Beanoe, “that's okay, you'll
soon get into it.”

“So, Project Happiness?”

“Phase One,” says Beanoe.

“How many are there?”

“Don't know. Don't care. We do our job. We laugh, get
laid, get paid, go home—not necessarily in that order—don't always
get laid either. Ha.” Jamie's not sure what to make of Beanoe, he's
anachronistic, the sort of person he'd want to hate but there's a
desirable quality about him, a charm of sorts, a man for the good
times.

“What do I do?” asks Jamie.

“Do?” Beanoe seems to find a joke in everything.
“Nothing! Tomorrow's your real start, today's half over.” He climbs
a step to whisper in Jamie's ear, “Work hard. Play hard. Do the
best. You get the best. It's a taste of what's to come.”