by Shawn Davis
What if I try to escape? Or more realistically, commit suicide by jumping from the back of the airborne vehicle.
Instead, Rayne held on tightly to the passenger handle as the vehicle lifted off the platform and sped into the depths of the Breechlere Warehouse. The other Trooper followed close by on his air-cycle as Peter gazed down at the hundreds of gray-uniformed workers continuing their struggle to meet the day’s work quota. He had never seen the warehouse from this angle before. The aerodynamic machine raced like a missile through the maze of metal-lined shelves, cardboard boxes, and wooden palates.
Chapter 13
Executive
The sound of chanting employees and the stagnant odor of the warehouse faded as the anti-grav cycle maneuvered to the ground floor and settled down lightly in front of a silver metal door. The passengers dismounted and the Troopers escorted Rayne through the door and down a narrow corridor until they reached an elevator. They stepped onto the elevator and Rayne felt his stomach lurch as the doors closed and the Trooper pressed button 53.
Seconds later, the elevator came to a smooth stop and a computerized voice spoke from a speaker above the door, “FLOOR NUMBER FIFTY-THREE.” The elevator doors slid open and Rayne faced a gold-scripted sign on the opposite wall, which read “Breechlere Executive Office- Level 2.”
“What are we doing here?” Peter asked his silent, robot-like guards.
For a response they asked him to step out of the elevator and led him down a long, wood-paneled corridor. They soon reached a beautifully finished mahogany door with gold-scripted letters on the door reading “Executive Personnel Manager.” The door swung open automatically as they approached.
They entered a spacious carpeted area surrounded on all sides by an incredible array of tropical plants. The ceiling must have been at least forty feet high, which allowed some of the lush green plants to grow to the size of small trees.
Rayne could feel heat from powerful artificial sun-lights shining down on them from massive panels in the ceiling. The lights glimmered on the dark blue body armor of his escorts like the sun glistening on a lake.
The guards led him past assorted couches and coffee tables until they reached a narrow opening in the jungle-like plant growth surrounding the large waiting area.
“Follow this path to the end,” one of the guards instructed him in his patented monotone voice.
“Wait, what’s going-” Rayne started to ask before realizing the guards were turning on their heels and marching back across the waiting area.
The automatic doors swung open as the guards approached and then swung shut again as they left. Rayne turned around and looked down a long, narrow, stone-tiled pathway through the thick tropical garden. Many of the taller plants actually overhung the path, forming a natural tunnel through the verdurous tangle of plants. Peter couldn’t think of anything else to do but follow the path.
Rayne followed the gray stone tiles until the plants opened up to a spacious office. The center of the office was dominated by a large desk, which matched the entrance door and the other woodwork in the place.
A high-backed leather chair was turned away from the desk; the chair faced an immeasurable picture window covering the entire far wall. Rayne realized the clear glass wall surrounded the spacious office all the way around to the artificial jungle at its edges. It seemed like the entire city could be seen from this height and the view was breathtaking. Skyscrapers towered around them like silent steel sentinels. The morning sun shone brightly through the giant glass wall, casting solid shadows on the gold-carpeted floor.
Rayne stepped into the open area and walked toward the desk. A steady stream of tobacco smoke drifted up from the high-backed office chair.
“Is anyone there? This doesn’t seem like the normal policy for issuing DP charges,” he said, walking forward.
Suddenly, barking laughter emanated from the opposite side of the high-backed leather executive chair as the seat began to shake and quiver. The hovering tobacco smoke dissipated as the chair spun around. Rayne stared at a suited man close to his own age; mid-thirties with dark, slicked-back hair. The man was obviously an Executive and Rayne couldn’t believe he was actually taking an active role in his punishment.
Rayne stood frozen in place with his eyes opened wide, despite the bright morning sun shining in his face.
The seated man adjusted his gold, wire-rimmed glasses, casually placed his feet atop the mahogany desk, and crossed his legs. Peter noticed that he had deeply-bronzed features as if he regularly visited an artificial tanning salon. His tan had that fake quality to it that only a tanning booth could produce.
The Executive tapped his ivory tusk pipe against the edge of the desk to empty the remaining tobacco into a gold ashtray.
Rayne stood staring at the Executive with a dread fascination. The Executive adjusted his bright red tie, brushed a dust particle from the right side of his dark blue pinstriped suit, and refilled his pipe with fresh tobacco. Peter was pretty sure he had never seen anyone on the Executive level since starting his employment with Breechlere eight years ago.
“Have a seat,” the Executive said, gesturing to a small unobtrusive chair placed in front of the wide, imposing desk. Peter hadn’t even noticed the chair against the backdrop of the huge desk. He circled around it and sat down.
“So, you’re Peter Rayne, huh?” the Executive asked, puffing on his pipe.
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Stop looking so scared, Peter. Relax. We’re just going to discuss a few things.”
Peter wanted to comply with the Executive’s instructions, but he found himself unable to loosen his grip on the armrests.
“Mr. Rayne, first I would like to introduce myself,” the suited Executive said, blowing smoke across the desk into Peter’s face. “I am Steven Broderick, Executive Personnel Manager for the Breechlere Corporation. I understand you missed work yesterday.”
“Yes, sir, I did, but there were extenuating circumstances. You see-”
“Forget it,” Broderick interrupted. “It doesn’t matter.”
Rayne watched Broderick remove his legs from the desk, take a large puff from his custom made pipe, and glare at him as if he was addressing an imbecile.
“Listen, Mr. Rayne, I don’t know what’s been going on with you and I don’t want to know,” Broderick said, eyes gleaming. “All I know is that yesterday you were absent from work without an explanation. If it were up to me, I’d simply have you sent to a Work Prison.”
Rayne smirked upon hearing Broderick’s comment about the Work Prison, but he felt now was not the time to mention the atrocities he had witnessed below the earth.
“Mr. Rayne, my problem is simple. You deserve to be fired, but I can’t fire you. The Chairman of the Board of Stockholders, Timothy Leland, gave me orders to suspend your case until further notice. In case you didn’t know, Mr. Leland is the owner and CEO of Hovercrafts International, the world’s largest air-car manufacturer. He’s also a senior stockholder in the Breechlere Corporation. Do you recognize the name, Mr. Rayne?”
Peter knew he had to think quickly. It all made sense now. Campion’s people had intervened in the situation and pulled him out of hot water just in time. All he had to do was go along with it.
“Sure, I know Mr. Leland from many years ago. I worked on several computer projects for him,” Rayne lied.
“You worked with Mr. Leland?” Broderick asked, skeptically, harshly accenting the word “you”.
“Believe it or not, I did. It was several years ago before some personal problems brought me to the unfortunate position I’m in today. I’m surprised he still remembers me.”
“He remembers you all right. He says you’re one of the best computer programmers who ever worked for him. I was shocked to learn that one of our warehouse grunts once worked for Mr. Leland in a professional capacity. I thought that surely he made a mistake,” Broderick explained, tapping his pipe on his gold ashtray while leaning back in his comfortable cha
ir. “You see, several years ago Mr. Leland bought an unprecedented amount of stock in our company, making him the Breechlere Corporation’s majority stockholder. Recently, he requested more information concerning his assets. He wants to measure the total productivity of our manufacturing and distribution processes. He requested one of our top computer analysts to calculate input-output ratios.”
Broderick paused to refill his pipe. He re-lit it and squinted at Rayne through a cloud of smoke. “Apparently, Mr. Leland found your name in our personnel database and recognized you from a contracting job you did for him several years ago. Somehow, you managed to make a favorable impression on him. Mr. Leland has requested that you work on his Total Productivity Project.”
Broderick paused dramatically to take a large puff from his pipe. He blew a cloud of smoke across the desk into Peter’s face again before resuming his speech.
“I don’t believe you know just how lucky you are, Mr. Rayne. Yesterday, you were absent from work. I spoke with your Floor Supervisor and he recommended your immediate termination. Now, you’re getting a promotion. Let me just stress that it was not my decision. It was Mr. Leland’s decision. Mr. Rayne, you should have been fired for your incompetence and I think you know that.”
Rayne understood the game now. Campion’s partner, Leland, had taken care of his new promotion. Campion told him yesterday that something big was going to happen today, which would eventually give him access to the capitol city. This was it. Rayne knew he should simply remain quiet or agree with the condescending Executive. But a rebellious side of his personality, which rarely revealed itself, broke suddenly to the surface like an ascending nuclear submarine. Broderick’s condescension finally got to him.
“Yes, Mr. Broderick, I do know I should be fired. So what’s stopping you?” Rayne quipped, feigning a casual attitude as he leaned back in his uncomfortable chair.
“What’s stopping me?” Broderick repeated as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.
Broderick’s face turned a light shade of pink as his eyes twitched and bobbed from side to side. He clenched his fists upon the desktop and took a deep breath.
“What’s stopping me?” Broderick repeated. “I’ll tell you what’s stopping me. If you didn’t have the connections you have, you’d be dead now. I guarantee it.”
Rayne noticed Broderick’s body trembling slightly as if he were a volcano about to erupt. The Executive looked like he wanted to reach across the desk and strangle him.
“Dead?” Rayne asked him. “Since when did Human Resource Managers become executioners?”
Peter was sure the Executive was going to blow his top. His face turned a deep shade of red as his body trembled.
“Mr. Rayne, you’re pushing your luck. Your connections will only protect you so far. I’m an influential person in this company. I know people who could take care of you permanently.”
Rayne began to see that he was venturing into dangerous territory. It might be best to restrain his sarcasm so he didn’t endanger his position or his future mission.
“I apologize, Mr. Broderick. I’m not used to being threatened. It rubbed me the wrong way,” Rayne said, leaning forward in his chair and assuming a contrite expression. “I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I realize that it was your compassion that has kept me from getting sent to a Work Prison. I really do appreciate it, Mr. Broderick.”
I’m really laying it on thick, Rayne thought, trying to gauge Broderick’s reaction. Broderick’s face had gone from a deep shade of red to a light shade of pink. His body seemed to have stopped trembling. Peter thought these were good signs.
“Mr. Rayne, you do like living on the edge, don’t you?” Broderick said, forcing a wide, Cheshire-cat smile. He assumed his previous nonchalant demeanor, leaned back in his chair, and refilled his pipe. His heavily tanned face still retained a slight pink shade.
“As you can see, sir, my mouth sometimes gets me into trouble,” Rayne said.
“I can see how it would,” Broderick agreed, leaning back and placing his feet on the desk. “I’m beginning to understand how a talented computer programmer could fall so low in life. Insubordination.”
“You’re right, Mr. Broderick. I’ve had some problems in the past, but I’m willing to improve my attitude if given the chance,” Peter said, trying to sound sincere. No matter how hard he tried, it still sounded like he was delivering rehearsed lines.
“I hope so, Mr. Rayne. For your sake, I hope so,” Broderick said, blowing a cloud of smoke across the desk into Peter’s face yet again.
“Now that I’m promoted, will I be making a new salary?” Rayne asked, trying not to sound too excited.
“Of course. You’ll be paid the starting yearly salary for a level four Executive,” Broderick said.
“Which is?”
“I thought everyone knew it. The standard salary for a starting Executive is two hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
“Per year?” Rayne asked, shocked.
“Of course. What else would it be? It’s the same salary for all level four Executives starting with any company in the nation. Where have you been? Ten years ago, the federal government standardized the executive pay system by mandating a fixed rate – adjusted annually for inflation – for all executives in the country in the Frump Economic Reform Act of 2048. After a year of employment, you’ll be eligible for a promotion to a level three Executive and the accompanying pay increase.”
“Two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars a year?” Rayne repeated.
He felt his entire body tremble with excitement. He could do a lot with that kind of money! Peter wiped his moist palms on the legs of his gray jumpsuit while his mind whirled with images of hundred dollar bills swirling around in a wind tunnel.
“I didn’t realize. I mean, I didn’t realize I would-”
“You’ll also receive the standard fringe benefits of a level four Executive,” Broderick interrupted him. “You’ll receive the standard company air-car and apartment. You’ll also receive a family green pass to visit Virtual-world any time during the year.”
“Virtual-world?” Peter asked, stunned.
“Surely, you’ve heard of Virtual-world!” Broderick exclaimed, raising his thin, black eyebrows.
“Sure, I’ve seen it in commercials. It’s just that I’ve never been there.”
“How could you? You’ve been a grunt for the last eight years.” Broderick said, laughing. “But you’re an Executive now and you had better get used to your new status and adjust your attitude accordingly.”
“That won’t be a problem, Mr. Broderick,” Peter replied.
“Good. Then, we’re almost done here. When you leave this meeting, you can go on your way.”
“Mr.Broderick, I just have one more question.”
“Spit it out, Rayne.”
“You’ve explained that I’ve been promoted to an Executive level four, but my wrist code still designates me as a level two employee.”
“I prefer to call your kind grunt,” Broderick commented, exhaling another thin cloud of whitish-gray tobacco across the desk. “But not to worry, Rayne. Follow me and I’ll personally change your code.”
Rayne followed the Executive Personnel Manager to a small table placed in the far corner of the office next to the giant glass wall. Broderick picked up a device, which looked similar to an antique store-pricing gun.
“Okay, Peter, give me your left wrist,” the tanned Executive said.
Rayne placed his hand within range of the gun and Broderick ran the metal device over his skin. Peter felt a brief tingling sensation, but that was it. From now on, he guessed if he rode his arm along the ultraviolet coding device at work, the computer would say, “EIGHT O’CLOCK AM, PETER RAYNE, EXECUTIVE LEVEL 4. ADMITTED.”
He would no longer have to be concerned with tardiness. As an Executive, he would be able to make his own hours, take as long as he wanted for lunch, and even issue DPs to employees.
“You’re all set, Rayne,” Broderick said.
“Thank you, Mr. Broderick,” Peter replied.
“Sure. There are just a few more details to take care of and I can get you out of here. I’m sure you’re anxious to start your new job.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Broderick.”
“Follow me, Rayne.”
Peter followed the suited Executive along the seemingly endless office wall until they reached a tall mahogany cabinet located next to the edge of the artificial jungle. He couldn’t resist asking a question.
“Mr. Broderick, what’s with all the plants?”
Broderick’s eyes narrowed. He turned to Rayne and spoke to him condescendingly like a college professor explaining a complex concept to a fourth grader.
“Rayne, it’s my way of bringing the outdoors indoors,” Broderick spoke, haughtily, as he stopped to survey the lush green plants forming a wall at the edge of his office. “Many of those plants no longer exist. Before most of the world’s rainforests were re-zoned for commercial purposes, many seedlings were extracted and bred in captivity. All the plants in my collection are originals. You won’t find any clones among these specimens.”
“So, I guess owning an endangered plant is sort of a status symbol,” Rayne commented, rolling his eyes.
He didn’t know why he couldn’t just stay silent on the issue. Something about the idea of keeping endangered plants hidden away in a private collection rubbed him the wrong way.
“Mr. Rayne, I can’t expect someone with your background to understand the significance of my collection. There’s no way you can comprehend the value of these plants. Sure, there are other private gardens in the world. But most of the plants in them are clones; they are mere genetic copies. There are no cloned plants in my collection.”
“I have to admit, that’s a pretty impressive collection,” Rayne lied, trying to assuage the sarcasm of his last comments.