“Of course we know you!” 031 squealed for the benefit of those around her who hadn’t noticed him come in.
029 wasn’t as excited, but equally expository. “You’re that consultant who got Michael fired.”
“He didn’t get Michael fired. He recommended that Michael would be better for a different job.” Clearly 007 did not miss Michael at all, and was happy to move in on his territory.
“You have to admit that work’s been going a lot smoother lately.” 031 nudged 029. “You can’t always make decisions based on one person. You have to think of the group. The good of the many, ya know?”
029 rolled her eyes. “Don’t quote that dumb movie to me.”
“It’s Dickens, actually.” Eyes turned to 018, who had decided to speak up for the first time. “It’s from A Tale of Two Cities.”
031 wrinkled her nose. “I thought that was the best of times worst of times one.”
“It is. But that’s not the only sentence in the book.” 018 was drinking water. Emelius had discovered, in his analysis, that she was considered the office curmudgeon. She was in her late twenties, but she had been there longer than most of the others. She knew how the business ran, and the best way to run it. As a result, her advice was rarely heeded. Mr. Cartwright had not fired her, as many had hoped.
Off a glance at 018, 007 appeared to read Emelius’s thoughts, or vice versa, as he said, “How do you figure out how to fire – oh, I’m sorry, I mean, adjust?”
“I look for the staff infection.” Mr. Cartwright took a cautious sip of the punch someone had forced into his hand. It was too sweet.
The little group laughed. Only 018 noticed that Mr. Cartwright was not laughing. “How do you do that?”
“You have to look for the symptoms. You see, infections are caused by bacteria. Now, not all bacteria is bad. In fact, some of them are necessary for us to survive. But some bacteria are very harmful, and if they sneak in they can ruin the work of the good bacteria, and even kill the patient.”
029 was no less skeptical. “Are you comparing us to bacteria and the company to a person?”
Mr. Cartwright nodded. “Precisely. I’m quite pleased that you grasped my analogy so well. The thing about infection is that it can turn a simple problem with a simple solution into a crisis. If there are bad bacteria on an area with an injury, then the wound festers, and the patient dies. Let’s look at the injuries in the American Civil War. The conditions were a breeding ground for infection: bad hygiene, spoiled food, contaminated water. Add a gunshot wound, and the patient would die of infection. Unless the patient’s wounded limb was immediately severed, taking the bad bacteria with it. Often amputations were performed without anesthesia. One can imagine it would be less painful to leave the limb and hope it cleans itself. Unfortunately, systems don’t work that way. It will hurt, but death is worse. That’s where I come in.”
The coworkers fell silent in the noisy room, presumably thinking of all the bacteria controlling their body functions at that moment. 031 flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “So, are you single?”
12.
I must turn your attention away from Emelius Cartwright to discuss the more pressing matter in the months between Mr. Cartwright’s conception and publication. I know this must be hard, since Mr. Cartwright is the greatest person never to exist.
By month forty-one of Final Solutions, I had displaced so many people from their jobs that it was only natural that I help those displaced find where they would be helpful. There’s a job for everyone, it’s just that sometimes the job you want isn’t the job you should have. People don’t like hearing this. They want to believe that they have the best understanding of their strengths and weaknesses, but people cannot be that objective. That’s why internet dating sites are so effective; it takes the impersonality of a computer to weigh the variables of two individuals to know how they will get on in the long-term. The same with finding a job. I’m not claiming that I can predict outcomes with the expertise and exactness of a computer, but I can if I use my calculator.
The project which really turned formerly uninterested parties in my direction (before the book came out, anyway) was Labor Placements, the side business that Zero-Zero-One and I unofficially began within Final Solutions at the turn of the second year. At the time it didn’t have a name, and it wasn’t a business; it was a non-profit service for the displaced employees of companies where my consultation had been the reason for their getting the ax. In actuality, it was the person’s qualities that lost him or her the job, but often an ill-fitting part in one machine is just what another one needs.
If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll notice that I’m repeating myself. Don’t make me repeat myself on why I do that. Moving on:
Labor Placements began after one grave consultation in which the daughter of one of the sales reps was fired. She didn’t like or care about her job, and it was communicated through her actions in such a way that was detrimental to the company. Outside of her working duties, she was a kind, cheerful person who loved to talk to people. She was patient and hardworking. I suggested that she work at a job that more suited her personality, like in a kindergarten or an ice cream shop. She took my suggestion, though she worried that there wasn’t any kind of future in a job like that. I assured her, as Mr. Cartwright assured a similarly down-on-his-luck boss’s nephew in Book Two:
“The only job with a future is the one you’re meant to do.”
Zero-Zero-One saw my innate understanding of skills has an opportunity to “give back” to the community. From then on, I provided each expelled employee with three job titles for three businesses where that person would be welcome. I already had quite a database of businesses from my research and experience. Putting together a few suggestions took about ten minutes. After Zero-Zero-One reorganized and cross-referenced the business database with the employee database, it took a matter of seconds.
I had been keeping track of the employees of all the companies I’d had as clients. It was easy to input the character analysis and work observation scores of each person and click “Save.” I kept the database current with contact information. These days finding someone’s phone number on the internet isn’t very hard, but I had no reason not to copy their last tax form and include it in my database. It was nothing more than the information that the individual provided to an employer and to the government, neither of which have their best interests in mind. For those few who were somehow unreachable, the police were very helpful. My reputation as a proactive citizen had crossed county lines.
Right after I’d sent Emelius Cartwright to Prominent Editor, I received a call from a Recently Unemployed Person. According to my records, I had helped her cousin find a new job after being laid off, and he had never been happier. She was wondering, if she paid me, would I do the same for her?
The little service that Zero-Zero-One and I were running in our leisure time soon ballooned into a lucrative side business. Once the database I designed was up and running, it took a few keystrokes to find the information and a few more to make the phone call, so our staff was minimal. But even in this arena I trained our three employees fully, so that they could do the computer’s job as well as the computer.
Even acting in complete efficiency, there were some bumps. There will always be some people who can’t be placed in any job without destroying what everyone else is working for. These people are rare, as almost anyone can be motivated properly, but there are some machine parts that are useless. In the thousands of people who have passed over the threshold of Labor Placements, less than two hundred have been judged unable to be placed. As can be expected of people with the character of a despot’s heir, none of them took this news very well. In a few more years, Labor Placements rose in such prominence that many companies, particularly the larger ones, required interviewees to be evaluated by Labor Placements before they would consider hiring them. They quoted our motto, “Best person for the job, best job for the person.” The compani
es paid us a reasonable retainer for the privilege of screening their employees, and we guaranteed that both employer and employee would be happy with the arrangement. Naturally our database grew, including not only the company’s profiles, but the profiles of the employers. I personally implemented a coding system to organize the types of people and the types of jobs. People and jobs were judged on a spectrum, and with a few keystrokes we were able to illustrate this spectrum in numerous graphs, depending on the learning style of the client, so that both employer and employee could understand the decision.
Our little job placement program was soon more famous than its mother company. By the time Emelius Cartwright entered the public sphere, the educated populace knew Final Solutions and Labor Placements because of a friend or relation who had used their services. For those remaining who criticized my “psychopathic techniques,” discovering that I provided free job placement was enough to melt their anger to admiration. We don’t have to know much about someone to decide what we think about that person. Most animals sniff. We look at a picture or read a headline. It’s amazing how little it takes for someone to make a judgment, and how much, if anything, it takes to change that judgment. Only someone whose mind isn’t made up will be open to arguments either way.
This ushered in the Golden Age of Human Resources. Work conflicts and stress fell to an all-time low. Labor Placements and Final Solutions became industry standard. Our staff grew ever more, every person painstakingly trained, every person doing his or her job, every person finding new meaning in work, not as something to be avoided, but something to be embraced. We were named “Best Place to Work” by dozens of magazines and websites.
Thanks to Labor Placements, I was given awards from multiple charities for the great humanitarian effort that was actually my job. Any journalist writing about me called it my calling, my vocation, or my greatest work. No one seemed to understand that I was working from my father’s old calculator, rather than from some intangible feeling of philanthropy.
I expressed my concerns to Zero-Zero-One.
“You shouldn’t worry about it,” she messaged me. “You’re being judged by your actions instead of your appearance, your words, or your gender. Do you know how few people are that lucky? Even if the world misunderstands your motivation, it doesn’t matter. At least you’re not being targeted anymore.”
I was being targeted, but minimally. Those who still believed me to be an evil robot or a figment of the government’s imagination were in the minority.
Zero-Zero-One included an uncharacteristic smiley face in her message. “Don’t worry about them either. We’ll take care of them.”
I suggested that we get married.
The ellipsis in the message blinked for a full minute before Zero-Zero-One said, “Okay.”
So we did get married, for legal reasons. She never stepped foot into my house nor I into hers. We continued to communicate primarily through email. Zero-Zero-One had no problem giving up her marriage privilege. She was, as one may have noticed, an exceptionally reasonable woman, and viewed marriage as exactly what it is: an unbreakable contract, a partnership whose only expiration is death, between two equals who share everything. The ultimate business arrangement. A few months later, when Mr. Cartwright’s Ultimate Conclusions became my main career focus, I stepped down as CEO and appointed Zero-Zero-One in my place.
Then, as acting CEO, Zero-Zero-One fired me.
13.
Rewind. Though I was his creator, Emelius Cartwright took over my life. On Prominent Editor’s suggestion I began a sequel as soon as the first was released. With the publicity I’d gained as Labor Placements became industry standard, the local world became very interested in reading a book by me. The bubble of ignorance I’d maintained around myself for years was a great service to sales.
After the sequel came another, and another, and another. I sold the movie rights as I was writing the third book, and several years in, a production company approached me with an idea for a television series that would serve as a prequel. Though Mr. Cartwright made me extremely wealthy, I did not view him as a sacred artifact that no one else could touch. However, I worked closely, through e-mail and the publication staff I had acquired, to ensure that the spirit of Mr. Cartwright would remain intact. I even short sent notes to Fan Fiction writers. Despite my hermitage, my little actions of humility only increased my popularity. Mr. Cartwright became a model of intelligence, rationality, and, most of all, hope. No matter how hopeless a situation seemed, when Mr. Cartwright tackled it, he found a solution.
I began to neglect my work at Final Solutions and Labor Placements. We had been in business for five years. I was still the boss, but I didn’t have as much time and energy to put into consultations. The company was doing fine, but I was still on the payroll. I must admit that, during this time, I found it difficult to let go. I knew what I had to do. We married, I made Zero-Zero-One CEO, and in a move that we heretofore have presented as a retirement, Zero-Zero-One handed me a pink slip. It was the first time I’d ever been fired. The world agrees that it was the best thing that ever happened to me.
But I don’t agree. Mr. Cartwright provided a creative outlet for me when I had reached a plateau of worldly success, when I thought I had something to say. The first book is the only one I can read myself. The others were written and tossed to Prominent Editor. They were literally throw-away efforts. While I understand why Mr. Cartwright and his adventures are so popular, I don’t like that it’s popular. It is a symptom of a bigger problem in our culture: a culture in which a fictional character’s habits are more important than the scientists and policy makers working to make the world a better place. Mr. Cartwright is just short of omniscient. He never loses. His biggest struggle is social acceptance, a detail I chuckle and wince over because no one has ever scrutinized him in real life like he would be if he weren’t a TV character in a tailored suit.
Not to worry, I have a plan. I always have a plan. I am going to help the world fix itself. I am going to implement a ground-level revolution of peace. But first, I’m going to kill Emelius Cartwright.
Part Two:
The Final Solution
MR. CARTWRIGHT’S PARTING SHOT
CHAPTER 16
Mr. Cartwright stepped out of the bank, raised a hand to shield his eyes, and dropped dead.
Mr. Cartwright had been born with weak blood vessel walls in his brain. He worked under stressful conditions, and though he managed it well, though was a non-smoker, drank seldom, and ate red meat and saturated fat in moderation, his blood pressure was fairly high. He was calm and patient, but that calm and patience took its toll. It may have been better for his health to lose his temper once in a while.
Then again, death is statistically inevitable however careful we are of our health. As Mr. Cartwright stepped out of the building, the headache that had been troubling him for the previous hour caused him to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. But it was too late. As he moved, the brain aneurysm that had lain dormant since his first moment of life burst. Blood flowed into his skull. The resulting stroke was so massive that he died instantly.
Emelius crumpled to the ground without any struggle, striking his head on the ground. Blood ruptured from the crack, and as he lay motionless, a well-meaning citizen dialed 911. Others stopped to help, but most passed by, aware that it was too late.
He had a DNR order in his will. He was a firm believer in accepting death when it came, knowing that living after a massive stroke would not be living. At the age of seven he visited his uncle in the hospital following a coronary, from which the uncle was revived. No one looked happy to be there. Emelius concluded then that he would rather have people saying farewell to him than holding onto a husk of what he used to be. He wrote a will and had it notarized and put into his family’s safe. He had changed little since then.
The ambulance arrived and pronounced him dead.
After being pronounced dead, in accordance with his wishes, Emelius was
immediately cremated and the ashes that were once him were placed in an hourglass. The hourglass was donated to the Children’s Museum of Cleveland, where it would rotate on an hourly basis and teach children about manmade methods of measurement. Then each child would move to a worktable and create his or her own method of measurement, whether it was for length, time, volume, or mass, based on his or her own preferences. The program would be supported by funds from the Emelius Cartwright estate, which handled all of Mr. Cartwright’s finances before and after his death.
There was no funeral. There was no obituary. Mr. Cartwright wanted it that way. He knew that anything he had done in his life was more important than any feelings anyone had about him. He knew that his name was not important. Even in death, he did not want the focus to fall on the fleeting and sentimental things that humans value so much. He wanted business to continue as usual.
His calculator fell from his hand upon his collapse. It was retrieved by a middle school student who kept it in his backpack until college. Of course Mr. Cartwright’s name was printed on a label from Mr. Cartwright’s labelmaker across the top of the calculator, but the student never tried to find him. He did, however, avoid using the calculator in public spaces, in case the alleged Mr. Cartwright ever saw it and tried to take it back.
THE END
14.
Right now, whatever your life is, however content and warm and full of food you are, you must realize that you live in a world of war. More tragically, you live in a world of war where the majority of the content, warm, full-of-food people live as if they do not live in a world of war. This, most tragically, leads to the proliferation of war. If you are not someone who is actively working to take down dictators and destroy violence, then you are part of the problem.
Mr. Cartwright and the Final Solution Page 4