So, he told himself. The posture has to be teamwork, cooperation between different parts of the same organization, steer like hell to get back what he could. And keep smiling.
He put his phone and mail through to Support and went downstairs.
Sally's office was neater than his own, and had tiny white furniture. It was like sitting on porcelain teacups. He was sure she chose the furniture deliberately to make large men feel clumsy. Sally offered him coffee. Christ, what was his caffeine count already? Too many stimulants, you lost points. Was she trying to jangle him, get him shaky?
"Oh, great, thanks," he said. "White with one sugar. "
"Help yourself," she said. Her smile was warm and friendly. What she meant was: help yourself, I'm not your mother.
"Real cream," acknowledged Jonathan as he poured.
"Nothing but the best is good enough for us," said Sally. She was luxuriantly made up, frosted with sheen. She sat down opposite him. Her hair was in different streaks of honey, beige and blonde, and she was slim under her sharp and padded suit. Her entire mien was sociable and open, inviting trust.
"Thanks for the report," she said. "It was very useful, and I really want to thank you for organizing the presentation for us. "
Jonathan had fought it every step of the way. "My pleasure," he said. "We really need to get the two teams together to talk. I just want to be clear that what we're aiming to do is work towards a set of procedures for shared work, which keeps everything going to the right people. "
Sally nodded. But she didn't speak.
Jonathan double-checked. "Am I right?"
Her smile broadened just a stretch. "Uh-huh. We do have a set of procedures that your own staff agreed. "
"Not all my staff, and not the Quality Action Units who should have been involved. The idea is to empower everyone in the organization. "
"Well, I'm sure we can iron out any points of difference. Refer them to the Quasi. OK?"
Jonathan played back the same trick, an uncommitted shrug. But it was one up to him.
A peace offering? Sally kept on. "I also thought that we should present to you first. Most of my staff are familiar with what you do, but our CD ROM work is new, and we need to go over it with your team. "
Can I let her get away with that? the clock was ticking, his heart was racing. Caffeine and three hundred thousand smackers. Basically, her staff would NOT be there, say just three of them. They would have the floor and the agenda, but his people would outnumber them, and it would be very easy to take pot shots from the audience. On balance, yes, he could go along with that.
So he agreed. They set dates and agreed how to split the cost of wine and food. Sally gave him a warm and enveloping smile as he left.
Climbing back up the stairs, he reckoned he had scored a five. She still had the initiative, she'd gone no distance towards giving up registration of his jobs, but then, it could be argued that Harry had given them away. I got some points across, but anyone could see I was tense. Jeez. Why do I do it to myself?
Right, now it was Billy, then Dead Space, then the brief on the Commission tender, then lunch.
Lunch with Harry, his boss. Harry was shy and hated schmoozing, which was endearing in a boss, if only he didn't wring his hands for hours at a time and utterly fail to make decisions. Jonathan braced himself for an hour of whining. Jonathan used to work out at lunchtime, till he realized that he scored a full . 03 higher if he social-grazed instead. He was climbing the stairs now, to keep fit, though he was not too sure if anyone was noticing. For some reason, he was feeling mean when William arrived for the Sales Meeting.
"Template?" Jonathan snapped at him. William's eyes glittered. Look at those lenses dive for cover. William was in his early twenties, uncomely, gay, nervous. He was supposed to have the agreed agenda and a place for agreed action notes. "Ah. It's just here. " When William found his sheet, the agenda section was left blank.
Jonathan tapped the white space, and chuckled, and shook his head, like an indulgent father. "Billy, Billy, what am I going to do with you? Couldn't you remember to print it out? Here, use mine and photocopy it to me after the meeting. Did we get the form letters out?"
Billy had. Well, what do you know?
"All sixty? Great. Thanks very much. Now. The new fax number. We sent all our customers the new fax number, right? Fine. Then why did the Commission fax us a copy of a tender brief on the old number?"
Billy's face fell.
"They sent us a tender, Billy, and it went to our old number, which is with Interactive Media now, who are not necessarily our greatest chums, where it sat for a full afternoon. So now we have four days instead of a working week to develop a full tender with designs. Do you see the problem here?"
Billy face went white and distressed.
The real problem, Jonathan cursed to himself, is that management expects me to make sales without any funding, so I have to use poor Billy from Support who is as sweet as a lamb, but Jeez! Jonathan watched as William scrambled through his shaggy files. OK.
Jonathan decided to try a new management technique. He tried to make himself fancy Billy sexually. LLA, Low Level Attraction, could generate good Team bonding. In fact, people with low to middle bisexuality scores had a favoured Starting-Gun Profile.
So Jonathan looked at Billy and tried, but Billy had chalk white skin and lank black hair, and spots, the thick, clotted, dumb kind of spot that never comes to a head.
I hate this guy, this puny, nervy little idiot; I just can't resist trying to break him.
"Um," said Billy, miserable, balancing his spread-eagled file on his lap. "Yeah, well, I, uh, didn't fax the Commission because it was among my problems to be resolved. "
"You mean you didn't know the Commission was one of your clients?" Jonathan managed to say it more in sorrow that in anger.
"I think it was that I didn't know who were our contact names there. "
Neither, now that he thought about it, did Jonathan. "OK," he sighed. "Look. Talk to Clara, she'll know them, and then just send the notification you've got. Don't apologize or let them know that we didn't tell them in time. If they ask, the number has just changed. I don't want them to know we had this little hiccup. OK?"
"OK," Billy murmured.
"And, Billy, please. Don't try to keep all your correspondence in one file? You'll find it easier if you keep things separate. "
Billy thanked him for the advice. Then he suggested that Jonathan might like to come around to his place for drinks.
I don't believe this. This kid was making a pass at him, he was so desperate. OK, we're both playing the same LLA game. How can we both win? Don't be judgmental, turn the attraction, if that was what you could call it, into friendliness, team bonding.
"That's a great idea, Billy. But I've been feeling bad about not inviting you to my place. I think you've met my wife, but you've never even seen my daughter. Are you free next week?"
Billy looked relieved. Jonathan was relieved too, and thanked him for the job he was doing, and in the general thanking and summing up the invitations were forgotten.
Billy left and Jonathan sat back and sighed. He was feeling tired a lot these days. He saw Sally's face, pink glossy lips parted, as she gave a tiny cry. He sat still for a moment, his eyes closed.
It was 9:57. Jonathan couldn't help himself. He checked his scores again. He really must stop doing this. It was like when he got hooked on the I Ching, and had to have Chaos therapy to kick it. But all he wanted was a breakdown, a fuller breakdown of this morning's score with Simon.
Verbal content 4. 79.
OK, I knew I was bad, but that bad?
Body Language 4. 5.
What? Oh, come on. What was I supposed to do, pick my nose? Jonathan actioned a more in-depth analysis. Artificiality, his machine told him, a lack of visible sincerity.
Christ! You can't move around this place. If I'd been sincere, I would have said, you fucked up that own-account job eighteen months ago, and you've bee
n a liability ever since and you've done nothing any better, so we're ditching you like we should have done even earlier. I was just trying to be fucking kind. What should I have done, told him to fuck off?
So what got me my good score? this breakdown is terrible.
10:00 Dead Space.
And the computer flipped itself out into a proactive intervention.
Suddenly, it started to play him the tape of the morning's session with Simon. There he was, fat, stone-faced, saying, "It's not written for me. It's written for Personnel. "
A full analysis scrolled up on the screen. Flesh tones, oxygen use, body language, uncharacteristic verbals, atypical eye use.
Behavior typical of industrial sabotage. Rage mixed with satisfaction.
In other words, Simon had become dangerous. Not a little bit dangerous, very dangerous. Determined, apparently, to get revenge.
In-house sabotage is one of the greatest problems now facing both manufacturing and service industries.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I've been on the course. Jonathan glanced up at the door to make sure it was closed. He could verbal and no-one would hear. George was supposed to be seeing him, but George, thank heaven, was late as usual.
"First. " Jonathan asked the computer. "Why didn't you warn me before?"
Programmed to hold all proactive interventions until Dead Space
"Alright, reprogram. If you get a priority like this again, you are to intervene immediately. Please confirm. "
Confirmed
"What are the possible actions taken by Simon Hasley?"
Action taken
"Fine. What is it?"
There was no response at all. It was almost as though the machine had crashed, right in the middle of proactive intervention. It simply went back to what it had been doing before.
The machine had been analyzing Jonathan's performance.
This time he noticed the total score in the upper right hand corner. His total score was 5. 2. It had been 7. 2. If Jonathan knew anything, he knew his own scores.
Simon was changing them.
"CV, please, full CV on Simon Hasley. "
Not available.
File cancelled due to termination of employment
"Simon Hasley is here until 31st August. His files are not cancelled. "
Not available.
File cancelled due to termination of employment
"Then open the ex-employee file. "
???????????????????
"Action. Restore scores for Dayplan Item One to 7. 2. "
ACTION NOT AUTHORIZED.
Jonathan slammed the top of his desk.
George walked in. To talk about late invoicing. And the bloody machine flipped back to its proactive intervention.
"It's not my letter," Simon was saying. Jeez, how embarrassing, right in front of other staff.
"Stop intervention," Jonathan ordered. "Sit down, George. "
Then Jonathan remembered. What had Simon said? Something about Accounts, that he'd worked in Accounts. Accounts with their big system who did all the monitoring. The really big boys. Simon would have swept up after them, wiped their asses, what does he know about the system?
George was talking to him, and Jonathan realized he had not heard a word. He was losing this, he was not handling it.
". . . it's the same story. We have to wait for extra-contractuals before we know what the job costs, and so we can't bill. " George was smiling his noncommissioned, sleeves-up, man-on-the-shop-floor smile.
"That's not what the people upstairs think. "
"Well, with the best will in the world, they're not down here doing the work are they?"
"They don't have to. George, I'm sorry to pull the rug from under you, but I want to change the agenda for this meeting. "
George sucked his teeth, scoring points, tut, bad meeting management.
"You know I would never do this normally, but I've just had an intervention on Simon as you came in. How is he taking it?"
The shop-floor smile was still there. "Like a prince. He's calm, in fact, you could say he looks quite happy about it, like he has a card up his sleeve. You give him a good severance deal or something?"
"We can't afford severance deals. This is in confidence. Simon is changing people's performance scores. He's got access to Accounts somehow. The machine can't change them back. "
"You're joking," said George, his pink face going slack. Then he began to chuckle. "No wonder he looks so pleased. He's changing people's scores. Well, well, I didn't know he had it in him. "
Managers must never lose their sense of humor. Jonathan managed to find an answering smile. "It's one way of getting your own back. " there was sweat on his forehead.
"Changing yours, is he?" George's red moustache seemed to glow redder.
"Screwed both of us. You're in charge of monitoring. " Jonathan's own smile was a bit harder. "So. How could he have done it? How can we stop him?"
"Beats me. Unless he got hold of the password when he was in Accounts. "
"You mean the access code. "
"No. This is different, it really lays open the whole network. I think only the Chairman has it, maybe Head of Accounts. You get hold of that you can change any information you like and then ice it, so it can never be changed. Change it invisibly I mean. "
"Great for when the Auditors call. "
"I expect so. "
"Can you change it on verbal? By mail?"
"By camel, I imagine. It's only a rumor but I've heard a few funny things. "
"From Simon?"
George grinned back at him.
And then in waltzed Harriet. It was 10:10 after all, and here he was, still in his previous meeting, so his time management score would be fucked, and Harriet would know that, and wouldn't she just love that?
Harriet loved something. She had gone doo-lally with pleasure. She started to do a dance around Jonathan's desk. "Ring around the rosy, a pocketful of posy, husha, husha, they all fall down. " Harriet roared her hearty, Hooray Henry laugh that Jonathan had not heard in so long. "Did you know that that is a song about the plague?"
"Someone's caught a cold," said George and his and Harriet's eyes seemed to harpoon each other, and both of them grinned.
Bad behavior from staff depressed their own scores, but insubordination knocked the stuffing out of their manager's profile. They knew it. They were enjoying this.
I am fed up with this crap, I am fed up trying to keep people happy. I am not responsible for keeping people happy.
"Harriet. The stress has gotten to you, "Jonathan said. "Come back when you're more in control. "
"When you are more in control, you mean. " Harriet was beaming, and about to chuckle again. "Come on, George, let's leave him to it. "
"George. Please. We're not finished. We still have to talk about invoicing. "
"Oh Jesus," and both he and Harriet cracked up.
"I want a breakdown of every invoice on this printout and why it's late. Friday will do. And please remember, that you are responsible for ensuring we hold to financial targets. If you don't, you aren't meeting the minimum requirements of your job. I'll give you a box four marking. And if it doesn't improve, I'll write one of those hilarious little warning letters. Oh, and Harriet, your anti-blood pressure medicine. I know about it. It does have strange side effects, doesn't it. I can recommend Medical Leave. I will be recommending a check-up. "
In other words, baby, you may just have lost your job. Harriet's smile slipped.
He verballed it. "Action. Store session. Copy. H. Pednorowska's behavior to the Medical Department. "
All this counseling shit to one side, the thing he knew he was really good at was being a bit of a bastard.
"Harriet. George. Thanks for coming to see me. Harriet, I'm sorry you're unwell. George, I'm sure you'll be able to cope with your invoicing problem. Please ask Simon to come in and see me. "
Their smiles had not quite faded.
"Meeting over, Team. "
Simon came back in. He looked as calm and unperturbed as this morning. "An impressive display, Simon. "
Simon was saying nothing.
"It wasn't age, you idiot," said Jonathan. "It wasn't slowed-down reaction times. Don't you know when you're being let off? they knew, Simon! that's why you were fired. You didn't think you could use the Chairman's password without all the right protocols did you? they were letting you go without any noise. Then you had to go and tamper with my scores this morning, you stupid, dumb, poor, idiot little lamb, and I don't know if I can stop it this time, Simon. I think they're going to send you to jail. "
Simon sat unmoving, in silence. But silence was not a denial, or shocked surprise. Would that be enough?
"I mean, as if I didn't signal it, as if I didn't near as dammit tell you, in those private little sessions, you've got a month, keep your nose clean. I don't want to see you go to jail!"
Jonathan raised his hands and let them fall. "I really thought you were smarter than that. "
Simon had not moved, not an involuntary flicker of the eyeballs, not a heave of the prison-patterned shirt. Except, he was weeping. He sat very still and a thick, heavy tear that seemed to be made of glucose crept down his cheek.
"They always have one up on you, don't they?" he said.
In the corner of Jonathan's screen, a tiny white square was flashing on and off, in complete silence. A security alert.
Brave New Worlds Page 33