Jaffle Inc

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Jaffle Inc Page 22

by Heide Goody


  “Yes?” I said.

  “Following data received and analysed since you spoke with Paulette two days ago, certain facts have come to light.”

  “Yes?”

  Estelle looked to the wall and it was suddenly crawling with dates, details and maps.

  “Second of June, you engaged with a group of individuals outside your residence using Restricted Jaffle service—”

  “Empties,” I said automatically.

  “Restricted Jaffle service,” Paulette corrected me.

  “Your interactions set off a security alert,” said Estelle, “and a Jaffle Swarm was dispatched to check on the individuals’ health and welfare. On the same day, your location shows you at the residence of Abram and Claire Luca for a period of time. On third of June, Claire Luca came to Jaffle Tech claiming that a Jaffle Tech member of staff had broken into her home and stolen a number of items including a dress and perfume.”

  “Uh-huh?” I said, no idea what else to say.

  “Continuing third of June, you were located at Baybrook food markets although you normally have your foodstuffs delivered. Also, another incident recorded with local Restricted Jaffle service users.” A camera image appeared on the screen, showing me and Helberg wiping paint from some very messy Empties.

  “That’s me,” I conceded.

  Estelle nodded. “June fourth, you requested two sets of work tunics from supplies. One was a maintenance engineer’s uniform. Security pass data shows that you were on the ninth floor of this building where senior management offices are located. However there is no CCTV video of you being present on the ninth floor.”

  I was surprised by this last point.

  “You look surprised,” said Paulette.

  “I am,” I agreed.

  “Fifth of June,” Estelle continued, “your Jaffle Port shows you located at Spalding flower markets. Later, it shows you at the Legion Art Museum some miles away.”

  “Is that a problem?” I asked.

  “It might be considered abnormal,” said Estelle, “given that, on the seventh of June, you refused to attend a mandatory scan with the medical team here, citing an intrusion, an anomaly.”

  The medical woman was nodding vigorously.

  “Eighth of June,” said Estelle. “You submitted a privately commissioned scan instead of attending one organised by our own team. The reason you gave was it had been requested by the CEO, Rufus Jaffle, or possibly by his secretary because a personal contact of theirs was in training and … required the practice?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “There was then a fire. The starting moments of the fire were not captured on CCTV but your own section records show you acted bravely in assisting your colleagues. Well done.”

  That well done stung, like being given a gold star sticker on the way to the executioner’s block.

  “You did not immediately leave the building though,” Estelle noted. “You met with one of our security staff. You were both in a nearby meeting room for several minutes before joining the rest of the section staff in your designated muster point on the front lawns.”

  She looked at me for any reaction. I had none I could give her.

  “Twelfth of June. You and a work colleague visited the OneStop Daycare Centre under the pretext of wanting to apply for jobs there. Thirteenth of June, Paulette received a request for a personal reference in relation to that job application. She asked you directly if you had ever met Rufus Jaffle and you said no. Fourteenth of June, several brain scans, seemingly created by the same individual who created yours, were uncovered in a routine audit of our company records.”

  Estelle put her hands flat on the table and sat back. “Well?”

  I smiled politely. “I’m okay, considering.”

  She narrowed her eyes, probably studying my face for signs of contempt or fear. “What do you have to say for yourself, Alice?”

  I looked at the data on the wall. “I have been busy,” I said.

  “Busy?”

  “You think one day’s just like the next, but when you see it all laid out like that… It’s no wonder I feel tired sometimes.”

  Estelle wasn’t happy with that answer. “You’re not concerned about the evidence of wrongdoing?”

  “Wrongdoing?” I looked at the data again. “I visited a house. I bought some food and some flowers. I visited an art gallery. Security data shows I went to the ninth floor even though no one saw me at all, so clearly I didn’t. I was slow leaving the building after a fire because Levi collared me to talk about health and safety.”

  A miniscule head jiggle from Paulette showed she thought that sounded entirely plausible. But Estelle was far from convinced.

  “This is all circumstantial evidence,” she said, “but it points towards something else.”

  “Yes?” I said innocently, though the worry inside me was palpable.

  “Alice Tennerman, do you work for one of our competitors?”

  I laughed. It was unexpected and genuine. “No! I have enjoyed – for the most part at least – enjoyed working at Jaffle Tech.”

  “Are you engaged in industrial espionage?”

  “What?”

  “Are you complicit in acts of fraud against Jaffle Tech?”

  “No. I wouldn’t even know how to do that.”

  Estelle glared. “Where do you meet your contact?”

  “Contact?”

  “At the food halls? At the art gallery? Is your contact masquerading as an Empty?”

  “Restricted Jaffle service user,” Paulette said, getting a sharp look in return.

  “Was the buying of flowers a signal?”

  “To who?” I said.

  “Did you access the upper floors of this building to carry out wire-taps or to plant surveillance devices?”

  “I just work in customer support,” I said.

  “Did you wipe company security camera records and plant falsified brain scan data in our systems?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “When you said that there was an intruder in your sector, was that to divert suspicion?”

  “From what?”

  “Did you start the fire to create a diversion?”

  “I nearly died in that fire,” I pointed out.

  Estelle huffed and sat back, deeply unhappy.

  The medical woman leaned in, slowly and calmly. “All this behaviour, Alice…”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s not normal.”

  “What’s not normal?”

  She attempted a chummy smile. She was certainly beautiful but she was no deceiver and her smile was a fake plastic thing.

  “Art? Expensive food? Flowers? You are a Jaffle Standard user. These things are…” She circled her hand. “They wouldn’t normally be of interest to you.”

  “No?”

  “No. Your settings wouldn’t enable you to have much appreciation of them. You’d get as much satisfaction from flowers as I would from … Ancient Greek poetry. It’s meaningless.”

  She was right. I had betrayed myself with my pursuit of experience and pleasure. I needed an explanation.

  “I didn’t enjoy them,” I said.

  “And yet you went to those places,” said Estelle.

  I nodded slowly.

  “Why?”

  I thought quickly, by which I mean I sat still in the frantic whirlwind of my mind and waited for a clever idea to come to me. “I went there…” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “But I got no pleasure or anything from it…”

  “No?”

  “So…”

  “Yes?”

  “I went for someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “Who?” I said.

  “Yes, who?”

  A phrase Helberg had used dropped into my head. “A hopeless romantic.”

  Estelle blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “A hopeless romantic,” I added. “High up in our company.”

  That
sounded good. I had no idea at all where I was going with it.

  “What are you saying?” said Paulette.

  I took a moment to compose myself. I had them interested and could play for time. “For the past few weeks, I have been helping an employee of this company in their … quest to woo the love of their life.”

  “I see,” said Estelle.

  “I see,” echoed Paulette.

  I could see the beautiful medic wanting to say I see too. She contented herself with nodding solemnly.

  “How are you helping?” asked Estelle.

  I thought quickly. “The, um, food halls and the art gallery were dates. Going to be dates. I went to check them out for him.”

  “Him?” said Estelle. “It was a man.”

  “Mmm. Also the flowers were for his love, but he asked me to collect them. Obviously, flowers bring me no pleasure at all but I gather that some people like them.”

  “None of this falls within the boundaries of your current role. If you’ve been acting as some sort of matchmaker—”

  “You can tell us who it,” Paulette interrupted. I was sure she meant to sound professional and probing, but there was no mistaking the gossipy tone in her voice.

  “I couldn’t,” I said. “He’s a very influential man. And hopelessly in love.” I picked details I recalled from Rufus’s memory. “He said that as a man in a powerful position he has to be careful. He won’t invite his love to his apartment – he’s got a big apartment on the Panhandle I hear – in case people find out.”

  “Panhandle, eh?” said Estelle, nodding like she knew who I was talking about.

  “And a big mansion south of the border,” I added, remembering Henderson had also mentioned that in my dream-memory. “I think they’re planning a romantic weekend away there.”

  “But why you?” said Paulette.

  “I met him because of my regular job. I must have said something that made him think I knew about, er, affairs of the heart. I’ve met him in his office. Twice, in fact. You’ll even see we were in the same room together. I wouldn’t be surprised if he used his influence to delete CCTV video to hide the fact,” I added, completely freewheeling now. “Who else would have the influence?”

  “How do you explain your presence at the Luca residence?”

  “Ah.” Yes, how? I thought. “Claire Luca is—”

  “His girlfriend?” suggested Paulette, getting too invested in my story.

  “That’s it,” I said. “I went to talk to her, to deliver a gift.”

  “But the burglary?” said Esther. “The vandalism?”

  “There was no burglary,” I said. “Perhaps there was vandalism. I don’t know. I should imagine that…” I hung my head. “I believe Claire Luca is married. This is one reason why their love had to remain secret. I’m told that when people engage in romantic relationships with other people’s spouses, people can become jealous. It’s not an emotion I’m overly familiar with.”

  Estelle seemed unconvinced. “But she came here and made accusations.”

  “I’m not sure that she is a very stable individual,” I said. “Her memories were warped by alcohol use when she came here with her accusations. Paulette knows that.”

  Paulette was nodding.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned to alcohol to cope,” I said.

  “But what has any of this to do with your privately commissioned brain scan?” said the medical woman.

  “It was his idea,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I think he panicked and thought exposing me to these complex situations and feelings has caused me to work outside the parameters of my Jaffle Standard settings. Which I didn’t,” I added quickly and firmly. “Everything’s fine up here in the old noggin.”

  I judged it was time for me to look contrite and embarrassed. I did my best.

  “I think there has been a breach of professional etiquette here,” said Estelle.

  “I was only doing what I was told.”

  “Not by you! By Hend— By the man in question. With your permission, Alice, we can access your memories of the events you’ve mentioned.”

  “Are you going to call the police?” I said.

  “That’s entirely up to you,” she said. “You might need to organise yourself some legal representation.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said and stood.

  “You don’t have to do anything now,” said Paulette.

  “No,” I said. “I need to go … freshen up. Settle my nerves. I’ll make some calls.”

  “I’ll come with you,” she said, also standing.

  “No,” I insisted. “I’ll just be a few minutes.” I thought about what I was going to do next. “Maybe a few minutes more than that.”

  I left, making sure I looked sad and emotionally drained until I was clearly out of sight. I dashed back to the elevators and waited for one to take me to the top floor. As I waited, I jipped a call to Helberg. The man without a Jaffle Port answered me on an old-fashioned audio transceiver; I could hear the echo on the line.

  “What have you done?” he said.

  “What makes you think I’ve done anything?” I replied.

  “So, you haven’t done anything?”

  I bit my lip. “I got called in for questioning, but I’ve thrown them off the scent for now.”

  “Thrown them off the… Are you a wanted international criminal now?”

  “No. I told them Jethro Henderson was in love with Claire Luca. A hopeless romantic like you said.”

  “Don’t bring me into this!” Helberg sighed on the line. The lightly distorted noise sent a shiver down my spine. “You lied your way out of the situation.”

  “I told you I was a horrible human being.”

  “Then it’s a good job I love you. What are you doing now?”

  The elevator pinged. By good fortune there was a senior management type in the car. I stepped in beside him. The display showed he’d jipped for the top floor. He looked at me. I nodded like, Yep, top floor for me too. He looked at me, specifically at my tunic. There was something familiar about him, his long solemn face, his thinning hair, but I couldn’t place him.

  He was about to say something when Hattie slipped into the elevator. She had a smile slapped across her face like she had been smiling all morning.

  “Hello, you,” I said. “You look cheery.”

  “The new apartment is amazing,” she said. “Everything shiny and new and—” She stopped and gave me a troubled look.

  I understood at once. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to like it. I won’t be offended.”

  “Oh, it’s amazing, Alice!” she gushed. “The North Beach arcology is the future of living and with the financial incentive, I’ll have enough for a—” she poked her stomach with two index fingers and gave me a conspiratorial wink “—in a matter of months.”

  The elevator stopped at our usual floor.

  “That’s really good,” I said. “I should come over and help you celebrate.”

  “But leave your paints at home,” she said seriously, stepping off. “Are you not…?” She gestured out at the office beyond the elevator.

  “Er, no,” I said. “I’ve got to sort some things out upstairs.”

  She began to frown but the doors closed on her. The car rose again.

  “What are you doing?” said Helberg in my ear. I’d forgotten the call was still open and shut it off.

  The elevator reached the top floor. The man exited and then looked back at me severely. “And where do you think you are going? Do you have clearance?”

  “Of course,” I said, realising why I recognised him. He was Michael from Legal out of Rufus’s memory.

  He looked at my tunic again, pointedly.

  “Oh, this?” I said. “It’s not even mine.”

  The pointed look became one of confusion.

  “I do find if you dress like one of the workers, they don’t pay as much attention to you. And they’ll open up to you in ways
they otherwise might not.”

  “You’re some sort of…”

  “Company spy?” I said and laughed, riding on a wild, giddy confidence born from the knowledge I had built of castle of lies around me ever since I’d come into the building this morning.

  “Are you a company spy?”

  “I like to think of myself as more of a mystery shopper, Michael,” I said, recalling his words from Rufus’s memory, “But I very much believe the less people know and the smaller the paper trail, the better it is for everyone.”

  There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Did he recognise the words as his own or just find himself agreeing with the sentiment?

  “Even the legal department don’t get to know everything,” I said and stepped past him.

  I was in the long corridor with the plush carpet, belatedly wondering where I should go. I needed access to records, to computers, something I could jip with greater ease now I was in the higher reaches of the company headquarters. I really hadn’t thought it through.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” asked Michael.

  “It’s … been a while,” I said. “Last time I only visited Rufus Jaffle’s office. Is he in?”

  Michael smiled thinly. “Rufus is never here.”

  I nodded wisely. “He’d rather be partying and getting himself into trouble.”

  The smile stayed. “What do you need—?”

  “Alice,” I said and had a moment of inspiration. I pulled the plipper from my pocket. “I came to return this. One of your executives left it in a general meeting room downstairs. Jessica, was it?”

  “Really?” said Michael.

  “It wouldn’t do to have Operation Sunrise ruined by some of our technology leaking out early.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” he agreed. “Look, perhaps if you come through here we can sort something out.”

  He led me to a door which unlocked as he approached.

  “Your office?” I said.

  Michael nodded.

  The walls were lined with bookcases containing actual books: leather bound things with gold spines. Maybe they were there to reinforce his position as a man of the law. There were also two glass display cases standing on the office floor. The nearest one contained a model of a rat (at least I hoped it was a model). I bent to read the little placard:

 

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