“You have a cat bowl and litter tray in the utility room” I pointed out, trying to help him out. This merely seemed to make him irritable.
“Yes yes - but that hardly proves that I have a cat now, does it? Merely that I possess the implements for potential ownership of said cat.”
I sighed under my breath. It seemed that we were about to undertake another one of the professor’s rambling arguments that once concluded didn’t seem to make much sense at all. I inwardly grimaced as he began to move pens around on his desk once again.
“We must keep an open mind at all times Luke and the evidence here quite clearly dictates that the existence of said potential cat...” he drifted off, and the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece was the only sound that suddenly seemed to swell and fill the room. The Professor suddenly stood up, accidentally knocking the pen onto the floor. “...Or a theoretical cat!” he suddenly exclaimed, and raised his finger in the air as if testing for a change in wind direction. He paused to look at the floor as if musing this over and then repeated his conclusion. “Yes. A theoretical cat, Luke!” With that he dashed from the room, his lab coat trailing behind him as he went. I could hear the sound of things being moved around in the utility room as if he was looking for something. Several exclamations came from that direction as he continued the search for whatever it was that he was looking for, which was presumably what he now was thinking of as his theoretical cat. So it always was with the professor. Since I had taken the job I had as the saying goes, learnt to “expect the unexpected”.
I’ll tell you what. There’s no University education you could take that would prepare you for this job, but slowly but surely over the previous months once I had got used to the professor’s ways he had slowly opened up to me some sort of vague indication of what he was working on and possibly what my part in it was. But it had not always been that way. Oh no - at first I was completely in the dark, and the process of getting the professor to open up about what exactly it was that he was working on was akin to peeling an onion - slowly, layer by layer, and usually with tears in my eyes.
I will tell you what, it was a journey alright, and not in any way the boring technical support job that I thought I was applying for. Whether it was a pleasant shock that it was completely different remains to be seen. I suspected that the professor had lots more to reveal to me about God knows what. Yet it was always interesting. Sometimes vaguely crazy too. I mean, this is a man who keeps a spreadsheet for the best time to visit the local barbers, for fucks sake. Colour coded and everything. Weird. Real really weird.
The job itself was relatively easy. The professor’s real title or titles to be more accurate was head of Information Technology, as well as being the Director for research and development, and finally the Main product development analyst. The company had several departments, though the main brunt of my work dealt with handling technical support issues for the sales departments, though all of my calls for that aspect of the job were done mostly remotely by either telephone or remote support. There were also visits needed to the sales department to replace faulty equipment of course, but that seemed to be pretty rare. I did rather think that the professor thought that I was also like some sort of personal assistant to him as well, but that was fine because it helped relieve the tedium of the “my mouse won’t work” and “Outlook is looking funny today” calls, in which I found the fault usually lay between the chair and the mouse.
So I suppose that my new found job was a triumph for blue egg thinking. If indeed that was what determined my acceptance by the professor. Some days it is quite difficult to tell. Like then, when he was busy looking for his theoretical cat. I know a whole lot more now than I did then of course, but there are still huge swathes of stuff I have absolutely no idea about at all. Of one thing I was certain however, and that was that the professor most definitely did not own a cat. He had a cat bowl, basket and litter tray but no cat. The bowl and litter tray had remained resolutely empty during the entire six months I had been there. No cat. But this was the best way to approach things with the professor. As a general rule of thumb, he liked it best if you answered a question with another question I found.
Looking slightly hot and bothered, if not to say downright out of sorts he reappeared in the office entirely catless. His lab coat blew out behind him as he reached the French windows and seeing me hesitating gestured for me to follow. “Come on, Luke!” he shouted almost in irritation. “I am not sitting here all day waiting for this theoretical cat to turn up; we will take a trip to the village to clear our heads. The cat can wait for now!” I grabbed a pad and stuffing a biro into the lapel pocket of my shirt followed the professor across the lawns and into the car park. Ten minutes later we were in the small Cheshire village that was the nearest thing to civilisation for miles around. The village was so quiet even Tesco hadn’t heard of it, but there was a post office, which was a nice change these days. There was also a barbers, a coffee shop, a particularly quaint little pub called, “The Gym and Splint” for some odd reason.
There was also a butcher’s shop as well as a small gifty style shop that seemed to actually stock almost everything. I had yet to catch them out with not having something behind the voluminous counter anyway. It was a bit like a twenty-four hour Asda on Saturday morning, only not quite as big inside, though that didn't seem to stop them stocking absolutely everything. It was all counter service, of course which was very old fashioned and quaint. The shop was run, staffed and owned by Mr Hinnerty who had the curious distinction of being able to produce with no notice at all absolutely anything and everything you could ever want to buy, but was also the biggest teller of tall tales I have ever had the pleasure of talking to in my entire life. If you took Hinnerty at face value he’d been everywhere, done everything, and met everyone at least twice. He was the biggest fantasist I’ve ever met. I mean, half of the guy’s lies weren’t true. I still remember the first time I met him. That was on the first week of what the professor had conveniently labelled as my induction week. But that is another story. The induction was, and is, even stranger than the interview. In fact, they don’t even begin to compare.
Chapter Three
“I have never let my schooling interfere
With my education.”
(Mark Twain)
(Part One)
“Come in Luke!” said the short broad shouldered man that I now knew to be referred to as “Bridges”, as he ushered me into what was to be my accommodation for the foreseeable future. It was a great perk of the job. No rent, no utilities, poll tax and so on. Coupled with the slightly embarrassing salary I was still pinching myself at getting the job in the first place. “Let me show you how your room works!” exclaimed Bridges, his enthusiasm for what was after all just a room at the end of the day puzzling. I think at fifty-one I was fairly up to speed with how a room worked.
Nevertheless, he flicked the switch and the room lit up. I turned to have a look and I was, I think it is fair to say, impressed. The large king size bed was through a small doorway to the right but the main part of the room itself seemed to be a very large living room. A ceiling to floor bay window filed the far wall, through which sunlight splashed across the lushly carpeted floor. We were three storeys up, and the view across the Cheshire countryside was spectacular. I tore my attention away from that and noticed two other doors off to my left. I strode across the large room and saw a very plush bathroom through one door and a small kitchen through the other. The living area had several chairs placed around a large widescreen TV and a broad metal trimmed desk sat off to one side, upon which was placed a large computer workstation.
I drew in my breath as Bridges carried my cases into the room and placed them off to one side against the wall. He was a strange looking guy, I reflected. He seemed to be all overcoat, shoes and flat cap, with what may possibly have been a bushy black moustache covering the parts of his face that his pulled up overcoat collar and flat cap didn’t. His voice was the most imposing pa
rt of him, being deep and yet also pleasant. You couldn’t help but warm to the man, even if you couldn’t actually see him.
“The heating and lighting controls are on the wall here.” he said, pointing to the obvious dials placed by the exit. “There are instructions for the kitchen appliances in the top draw by the cooker, and a leaflet by the television remote over there. The internet is on your computer over there, along with your username and password.” He tapped where I assumed his nose should have been but wasn’t actually sure in a conspiratorial way. “No porn.” he almost laughed and I felt my eyebrows rise. “Only kidding.” he continued to laugh in his deep bass voice, “It’s not monitored.” he paused to reflect, before seeming to reach a decision to continue. “I wouldn’t push it though.” he finished finally and I gave him my best, “thanks, but it’s time for you to go” smile. Sadly, it didn’t work. He just stood there immobile, staring at me carefully almost as if he was weighing me up. For a second it crossed my mind that he might be waiting for a tip, but then it also occurred to me what the professor had told me about Hank.
“Is the internet here fast?” I asked in an attempt to create a conversational diversion and derail my train of thought completely at the same time, and the small man nodded vigorously.
“Very!” he replied as if he was trying to sign me up for it. “Bandwidth is three Ogden’s.” he said almost in awe.
“Ogden’s?” I asked, no idea of what he was on about.
“Yes!” he exclaimed almost incredulously, “Three!” I decided to leave it at that for now and took a casual glance across the room once again. He returned to his unmoving posture again, and once again I was reminded of Hank.
It had been Hank who had picked me up from the station, of course, just the same as when I had come for the interview. The same car or at least it looked it, and there couldn’t be many of those in circulation I would have thought. Way too old. The conversation was as scintillating as usual too, that is completely non-existent. Almost like the level of traffic. The roads seemed even quieter this time than the last! I had watched him as we entered the building, getting the same tingle of static as we entered, the tall man still carrying the suitcases, or possibly batteries, and then he had left me at reception where Bridges had arrived shortly afterwards. He had taken my cases, led me to this room, and now the room was apparently fully explained he stood completely immobile. I decided to take a punt. More for a laugh than anything, really.
“So are you an android too?” I asked him, his response being a loud roaring sound that may have been laughter. His shoulders may also have been moving up and down, but it was quite difficult to tell.
“No. “He replied, still making the strange noises that I had now decided was laughter. He held both his hands out horizontally. “See?” he asked, waving his hands up and down. “No batteries.” he continued chuckling, and I remembered what Wingnut had said about the cases that Hank seemed to continually have in his presence.
“Ah.” I said, trying to remember precisely what the professor had said. “But surely later generation androids have smaller batteries?” I asked, fishing for more information. I figured it would be a lot simpler to know if the person I was speaking to was human or not. That is if I accepted what the professor had said as fact, of course, and not just the ravings of a loon. Bridges continued chuckling.
“Ah well. There are no older generations you see, Luke. No point really.”
“Why?”
“Well the planet is filling up pretty rapidly already, don’t you think? No need to add to that by making our own occupants.” I nodded my head. Made sense.
“So Hank is the only one?” I enquired.
“Yes he is the only one.” He paused for a second, considering this, reflecting on something. “Good job too.” he finally continued. “We have trouble keeping up with the ginger snaps he eats. Never mind if there were more of them. Finally, he began to move towards the door. “Just let me know if you need anything, Luke. I am more or less the janitor, butler and head cook and bottle washer around her. “He paused for a second before crossing out into the hall. I gave him my thanks and he departed down the corridor, shouting as he went. “Hope everything meets your satisfaction. It’s not a bad place to work. Canteen is behind reception, by the way. Just follow the red lines on the wall.” and with that he rounded the corner and was gone. I quietly closed and locked the door, and turning around rested my back against it and taking in the room for the first time on my own.
It was enormous. I felt like doing a lap of honour around it, but settled instead for moving my cases into the bedroom and then returning to the desk and switching the computer on. To my surprise it booted up almost instantly, asking for a username and password. I picked the slip of paper up from the desk and entered them. There was the usual request to reset my password and then it was on. I spent a few hours just browsing this and that, and realising that I was not hungry at all, decided to unpack a few essentials and go to bed.
It was a restless night. Like being on holiday and waking up in the middle of the night wondering where you were and why the wardrobes have not only moved from one side of the room to another but also changed in shape, size and colour too. I was wide awake long before sunlight began to stream through a gap in the curtains and fall on the base of the bed. I rose and pulling a dressing gown from my case showered and made my way into the kitchen. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the kitchen seemed to be fully stocked. Fresh milk was in the fridge, bread in the bread bin on the kitchen worktop. I made coffee and some toast and sat in front of the breakfast news basically waiting for something to happen.
Once I had formally accepted the job I received my start date and time but apart from the fact that it mentioned I would have a two-week induction course there was very little in the latter that explained exactly what that course consisted of. I was still none the wiser, and therefore I was more than a little pleased when I heard the rustle of a piece of paper being pushed underneath the door of what I already considered in my mind to be “the flat”.
Turning the television off I crossed the room and picked up what I found to be a single piece of A4 paper with my first weeks’ timetable typed up carefully on it. Returning to the chair I scanned the list of events. The first three days seemed to be taken up with introductions to the various departments, structure of the office departments, human resource appointments and so on. Tours of the building. That sort of thing. Probably a list of do’s and don’ts as well. The usual new stuff. Where the canteen is. Fire drill. Working hours and so on.
By the end of the second day it really was as dull as it sounded. It was all stuff I needed to know of course, but still hardly exciting. The working hours themselves to be quite obscure, but at least I had every weekend off. Not that in mattered much to me. I had a few friends from home and I rarely made the effort of going out of my way to meet up with them. I was quite looking forward to the seclusion to be honest. That and the absurd amount of money they were going to pay me of course.
It was also I found, really vague. I was surprised when the very first thing we did on Monday morning was to sign the official secrets act, but I suppose it made sense as it was related to me that we did handle some government work from time to time. I just hadn’t anticipated having to do that but it was kind of cool at the same time. Working hours were next, and seemed fine. Pay scale was pretty bloody spectacular, and the sausage rolls in the canteen were to die for. By the end of the second day I could find my way around most of the building (which seemed to be surprisingly small given the size of the entrance and the grounds) and even work the microwave in the flat. The latter I considered being a major achievement. I had never managed the one at home. I was feeling empowered. Official secrets act and microwave manual in two days, things were definitely looking up. The third day gave a structure of company departments in perspective to where the office I was assigned to was placed. At best it was vague, general stuff. At worst it made my head nod as if
it was made of lead after a particularly large canteen sausage roll We had an early finish on Wednesday quite simply because I think they ran out of things not to tell me.
Thursday was mostly taken up with various checks by men with stethoscopes, running machines and various long needles. They took my blood, a piece of hair, compared dental records and eventually both literally and figuratively took the piss as well. That was an early finish as well. I think they also ran out of things to ask me about my health, which was of course fine by me.
None of this of course involved any communication with Professor Wingnut at all. Various faceless Human Resources people yes, doctors and nurses; all interchangeable. I didn’t even see the professor about the building. Not even the canteen. Friday however, was set out for spending the last day of my first week with him. The subject was marked clearly as “On the Job Familiarisation”, and as I was to be working in the professor’s department assistant then the day was set to one side to spend with him. With the boring but necessary stuff I had had to endure I was kind of looking forward to it. I thought that if nothing else it would definitely be different. So Thursday I had an early night and woke bright and early to get myself ready for spending my day with the professor. I wouldn’t say I was excited, as such; more curious. I suppose the French have a word for it as they say, but I’ll be buggered if I know what it is. All I know is I got up early, had my breakfast and made my way to what they called the Green light room. I was feeling quite pleased with myself for two reasons: Firstly, I knew where this room actually was, and secondly, I knew how to get to it too. The first time I had simply followed Hank, but now I knew exactly where the Green Light Room was in relation to the rest of the base.
So I found myself approaching the double doors that led to the professor’s room with more than a little air of anticipation. Still, I kept an even pace and stopped just in front of the doors, knocking loudly on them. Nothing. I have often wondered in the small hours (bear with me here) some of the more obscure rules of etiquette. How many times for example do you have to thank someone for holding a door open for you if you are following them down a long corridor with lots of doors? (Just the once, apparently. Any more than that is considered vulgar. Right.) Or that awkward moment when you pass the same person in the corridor later in the day. Do you say hello (again) or not? Again, apparently a simple nod or a quick “hi” would do. Or, the one that was most prominent in mind right at that very moment was how long do you wait until you knock again without appearing either impatient or rude. I was definitely the former, but hopefully not the latter. I was thinking about this as there didn’t seem to be any response from within the professor’s office at all. Nothing. So I knocked again. Still nothing. Awkward.
The Complete Adventures of Victoria Neaves & Romney Page 41
