A glass-doored display cabinet contained a collection of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century pocket watches, some encrusted with tiny diamonds or pearls, some with engraved gold cases, some with tortoiseshell cases. Each watch was illuminated with a tiny xenon spotlight. As usual when called to Harris’ kingdom of an office, Jeff took a surreptitious look around at the trappings and expensive collectibles.
He regarded Harris with a mixture of admiration, envy and disgust. Sure, he’d founded one of the world’s most famous and successful companies—and he was only in his late forties. But his ego was unparalleled. He never missed an opportunity to make sure everyone knew who he was. As if anyone wouldn’t know.
Jeff hated being summoned to Harris’ office. Harris had a way of making him feel like an engine part in a race car—one misfire and you’re out. Such meetings were rarely scheduled for mere back-patting.
“Our turnover rate has become intolerable. The pool of talent suitable for OneMarket is far too small to squander. We spend significant time and money to get the right people in here, then we either fire them for not keeping up, or they quit. I believe we’ve had this discussion before, and I’ve seen no improvement.” Harris cast a harsh glare at each of them in turn, as if daring them to deny his statement.
Jeff could see Fred blanch from the corner of his eye. His face had probably lost some color as well, but he tried to keep his expression neutral. It did no good to show weakness in front of Harris. Arguing with him was even more senseless, especially when he was in this sort of mood.
“I’ve taken action myself. I recently acquired a small, privately-held company. Obscure enough that I was able to keep the transaction low-key in the press. The firm’s name was NeurTech. They specialized in miniaturized biocontrol and biocommunication devices. Strong concepts, but they lacked funding and were absolute idiots at marketing.”
Jeff had never heard of NeurTech, but he already didn’t like the implications forming in his mind. He remained silent to see what else Harris had to say.
Harris pressed a button to call his administrative assistant. “Madeleine, send Dr. Tyler in.” He returned his acid gaze to Jeff and Fred. “Josh Tyler is the principal from NeurTech, the only person I really wanted to retain, especially under the circumstances. He’ll explain the technology to you in more detail.”
After a few moments, Harris’ office door opened and a wiry man in his early forties stepped in. His facial expression and bearing radiated a smug enthusiasm. Jeff instantly disliked him.
Harris motioned him to sit, then introduced Jeff and Fred. “This is Dr. Josh Tyler, founder of NeurTech. Josh, please explain the device.”
“Certainly.” Josh beamed at Harris, then turned toward them. “Well, in layman’s terms, the Genesis device is a neural transmitter through which we can channel impulses that the brain will translate into memories. For OneMarket’s purposes, we can load knowledge updates and training materials directly to the brain, without the overhead and time-consuming process of reading and studying. Employees will be able to learn more, faster, and still keep up with their day-to-day responsibilities.” He leaned back in his chair, arms folded, appraising their reaction.
Fred cast a questioning glance toward Harris and managed to choke out a sentence. “Has this been tested on…humans?”
Josh interjected, “Chip implantation in humans is nothing new. It’s already in widespread use for medical records, micropayments, and security, for example. For Genesis, we’ve performed extensive animal testing, as well as preliminary work on human subjects. The results were in line with expectations, and we’re confident the device is ready for more practical applications.”
“Which brings us to why we’re here. Fred, as the head of HR, I’ll expect you to help create a strategy for broader use of Genesis, if it works as well as Josh says. Jeff, you’re here because your area consistently has the greatest staffing gaps. I want you to identify the first recipient. It should be someone who’s having some trouble keeping up, but is otherwise a resource we wish to retain. I want to start slow, trying it on just one or two individuals—see how well it performs, how well it’s tolerated.”
Jeff nodded his agreement and tried to hide a sudden queasiness. OneMarket often forced him to make hard choices, some on the edge of his moral comfort zone, but this went beyond anything ever asked of him before. Bad enough to select some lower-level resource as a guinea pig, but if the program expanded to management… He pushed that thought aside. Maybe it wouldn’t work and it’d be discontinued long before Harris got that idea in his head.
“Other than counsel, you’re the only ones I’m notifying of this plan at this point. And I fully expect no one will hear about it from either of you.” Harris fixed them with another intense glare. “I’m scheduling a company Webcast to cover some updates, including a brief announcement of the NeurTech acquisition. I’m also planning to order physical exams for all employees, so we have baseline information available for Genesis implementation decisions. In the meantime, start thinking about the first one or two possible recipients. I want names within the week.”
Mark clicked the link on the intranet site to join the Webcast meeting. Advance notice had been minimal, and that worried him. In his experience, hastily scheduled corporate meetings had a way of bearing bad tidings. He did his best to ignore a growing feeling of foreboding.
Simon Harris was the first talking head to appear. And a self-satisfied, smug one it was. Mark slipped on headphones and adjusted the volume.
“Good afternoon. You may have read in the paper recently that I acquired a small biotech firm, NeurTech.
“This acquisition represents a relatively minor investment of my own capital and is not intended to detract from OneMarket’s focus of being the premier worldwide provider of global trading solutions. I wanted to announce it to you in the event the nature of the transaction was unclear in any way. Questions?”
A small pop-up box appeared in the lower right side of Mark’s screen with instructions to click it to enter a question. Probably some regulatory requirement that he tells us. Mark waited to see if anyone else had a question.
“No questions? Very well. Fred Cline has some other announcements to make, since we already have you all on this Webcast. Thank you.”
The page refreshed, and Harris’ head was replaced with Cline’s cheerless mug. Somehow he looked even pastier on a computer screen than in person. Some accomplishment.
“Thank you, Simon. Good afternoon, everyone. I just have a few quick items, then we’ll let you get back to your work.”
Cline went on to discuss aspects of the annual review cycle that seemed no different from what Mark had already read. Why would Cline spend everyone’s work time reiterating things that were already clearly documented—maybe just as a reminder to keep performance in mind?
Cline continued. “We know most of you work significant overtime, and therefore have minimal time for errands. Your well-being is our concern, and so we’re scheduling checkups for all employees in the coming weeks. These will be of no cost to you, of course, and will be handled on site, so you will lose minimal time from your workday to take care of this important annual task. More details about scheduling appointments will be made available shortly via email. That’s all I had to cover today. Any questions?”
Mark nearly clicked on the question box on his screen then thought better of it. Might as well not say anything. Don’t need anyone looking over my shoulder wondering why I asked about it.
He slipped off his headphones, then went to Terry’s cube.
“Hey, Terry. What’d you think of the Webcast? Was that normal for here?”
Terry looked mildly puzzled. “Well, it’s common for them to do the Webcasts pretty spur of the moment, since they don’t have to march us all to an auditorium to do them. But the doctor thing kind of pisses me off. We’ve always been able to schedule appointments with the doc on site. But I don’t recall ever being told I’m going to get a checkup li
ke that. That’s really annoying, like we’re their property.” Terry shook his head, then pointed at a graph on his computer screen. “Did you notice the concurrent connection count on OMTrade today? It’s been hitting an all-time high. Might want to keep an eye out for resource contention. Don’t want it choking on CPU or disk queues.”
“Yeah, I’ll set an alert on them just to be sure.” Mark stepped back over to his cube and sat at his PC to set up an email alert if any of the measurements rose above critical levels.
The announcement about the mass physicals still disturbed him. Like Terry, he resented being forced to participate in some OneMarket version of a cattle inspection. I work for them; even at my salary, they aren’t entitled to own my body and soul, too.
CHAPTER 7
“The Hartmans highly recommend this place,” Sheila told Mark as she opened the cabin door. “Cathy rates it a ten on the romance scale—perfect for an anniversary weekend.” She giggled as she flicked on the light.
They stepped inside, each carrying a bag of groceries. It was a little smaller than Sheila had envisioned, but it was gorgeous. All hardwood floors, split log walls, log beams in the ceiling—everything a mountain cabin should be. A huge river-rock fireplace dominated the living room. Even the furniture was made from smaller-diameter varnished logs. She stood in the center of the main room, still holding her grocery bag, taking it all in. “Oh, it’s perfect!”
“C’mon, quit standing there and let’s get the rest of the stuff in,” said Mark. He made a quick trip to the kitchen to drop off his grocery bag and was already headed back out the door before Sheila could respond.
She went to the kitchen to set down her bag, aggravated with Mark’s tone. He’d been so busy working that she’d had to make all the arrangements for their anniversary weekend. Then she had to change the reservations when he said he couldn’t possibly take Friday off, that they’d have to leave Friday after work, not Thursday as she’d originally planned. So here they were, ten at night, no dinner yet. At least the weather had been clear on the way up, though the forecast predicted snow for most of the weekend.
Sheila decided to start dinner before it got even later. Mark could get their bags. She looked through the cupboards to familiarize herself with the cabin’s dishes, glasses, and other utensils.
Pasta would have to do for tonight. It was easy and would go fine with a bottle of Chardonnay. She could get fancier tomorrow when time was on her side.
The front door slammed shut. “What bedroom do you want the bags in?”
“Whichever one’s the larger of the two. I didn’t get a chance to scope them out yet.”
“OK.”
Sheila heard Mark’s hiking boots clop across the hardwood floor. His gait sounded tense, annoyed. This was not a good start to the weekend. Determined to get things back on track, she started the water boiling, dropped in some pasta, and found a cube of butter in the fridge. A little salt, pepper and garlic powder from the spice rack, and she was set. She found the corkscrew, opened the wine, and poured some into two green glass tumblers, the closest thing to wineglasses she could find.
Mark appeared in the kitchen doorway, and she offered him a glass of wine while the pasta cooked. “Cheers. To our anniversary. Number thirteen.”
“Thanks.” Mark took the glass and headed for the living room.
Irritated, Sheila followed him. He stood near the window, holding up his iPhone and turning it slowly in different directions. “What are you doing?”
“Damn it! I can’t get a good signal.”
“So?”
Scowling, Mark moved to another window and continued to wave the iPhone around. “Without a data signal, I can’t monitor my email wirelessly. I’ll have to use dial-up. Guess it’s better than nothing. Where’s the phone?”
“What phone?”
“The phone. Doesn’t this place have a phone?”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask when you made the reservations?”
“About a phone? No. You didn’t mention you’d need one. This is supposed to be a weekend away, remember?”
“Well, I thought the iPhone would pick up. Now how am I supposed to check my email?”
“You can’t have a weekend away without checking your email? For chrissake, Mark.”
“That’s right! I don’t have the option of not checking it. That’s OneMarket’s rule and you know it. And it’s even more critical because the app’s been hitting some threshold points this week.” Mark ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I can try one more thing.” He went over to the couch, grabbed his computer bag, then pulled out his laptop and several cables and connectors. He sat down, switched on the computer and started hooking things up.
Four months. Four months since they’d been away together. She’d been looking forward to this weekend away so much, and here he was more worried about his email than about her. Sheila took a gulp of wine as she watched him try to connect his computer to his cell phone.
“Shit!” Mark’s voice bristled with fury. “This won’t work without data reception on the cell! Hell, I barely even get a passable voice signal! We shouldn’t have come here. If that app goes down…” He started hastily disconnecting all the cables and shutting down the computer.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing this stuff up. I can’t be without email. We’ll have to head back.”
“What? We just got here! Are you out of your mind?”
He glared at her. “I told you what OneMarket expects. Did you think I was kidding? Did you think all that came without a price? You’re the one who wanted me to get the job. I don’t think you get to do the complaining at this point.”
Sheila stepped back into the kitchen doorway and held onto the jamb to steady herself. Mark never spoke to her like this. Her words rushed out, fueled by guilt and anger. “I suppose it’s my fault Dad got sick and left us a great big pile of debt! You could have said ‘no’—I didn’t have a gun to your head. I know your job is demanding, God how I know. I just wanted to spend some time with you on our anniversary for a goddamned change!” She ran toward the closest bedroom, slammed the door shut and flung herself face down on the bed, sobbing in the darkened room.
As Sheila’s words echoed in his mind, tearing at him, Mark wound the laptop’s power cable into a loop and jammed it into a side pocket of his computer bag. It slipped back out and unwound on the floor in a tangle. He snatched it up, started to rewind it, and then threw it across the room. The plastic connection casing shattered when it hit the stone fireplace. “Damn it!”
He abruptly stood and stepped away from the laptop as if it were a deadly viper. As perhaps it was. He stared at the computer, surrounded by cables, connectors and other accessories—incongruous in a resort cabin. These were the things that wrenched him further and further from Sheila. She was right.
He’d allowed himself to get so wrapped up in OneMarket’s “perform or leave” mentality that he’d lost all perspective. Mark felt like a lab rat caught in an endless maze.
He sat in one of the side chairs, head in hands. How could he have treated Sheila like this, especially on their anniversary? What could he say or do now to make up for it and salvage the weekend? He could hear her sobbing through the bedroom door, each sound like a knife through his gut.
But OMTrade… He hadn’t been exaggerating. Some measures had reached worrisome levels this week. Levels that were close, but not quite, to a point that would require immediate intervention. If that app went down, there’d be serious repercussions—especially if it choked and Reyes found out he hadn’t even been monitoring it.
Mark picked up his cell phone from the coffee table, frowned at the low-reception indicator, and pointed it in different directions until the signal level rose a notch. Still terribly low, but hopefully just enough. He speed-dialed Terry.
“Hello?” The voice was garbled, barely recognizable.
“Hi, it’s Mark.”
“What?”
“It’s Mark. I have terrible reception—need to ask a big favor. We’re at a cabin and I can’t get email. Can you watch the stats for me until Sunday night? Swear I’ll make it up to you—name your price.”
“Sure, OK.”
“Thanks. Bye.”
The response was garbled. Mark hung up and set the phone down, then went to the bedroom door and lightly knocked. “Sheila?”
No response.
“Sheila? I’m really sorry.” Still no response. He checked the doorknob. It wasn’t locked. He slowly opened the door and switched on the light.
She lay face down on the bed, her shoulders shaking with now-silent sobs. She did not look up or respond to him. His throat tightened when he realized just how badly he’d hurt her.
Mark went over, sat on the side of the bed, and gently rested his hand on her shoulder. “I am so sorry. I had no right to say those things. I’ve been under a lot of pressure, but it’s no excuse to treat you that way. I want to make it up to you. Please.”
Sheila turned her head and looked up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and mascara smears ran down her cheeks. “Are you sure you can take the precious time away from your fucking email?” She turned away and buried her face back in the pillow.
He bit his lip and looked down. After the weekend, he knew it would be back to the same grind. He chose his words carefully. “I’m covered for the weekend. Let’s make the most of it. I’m sorry it started off this way. It’s our anniversary, and you deserve better. C’mon.” He reached down, gathered her into his arms, and held her tightly. She kept her arms at her sides at first, only gradually returning his embrace. The feel of her tears against his neck bit like acid.
They sat like that for minutes, until her sobbing finally subsided, then Mark took her hand and led her back out to the living room. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of something scorching.
“Shit! The pasta!” Sheila ran to the kitchen.
The Genesis Code Page 4