He finds her in the lab with a tube of slime preparing for a range of tests, the sliding doors of his entrance noisy enough to distract her. She offers no protest at his presence; rather she seems to be open to his company.
“What happened to you?” he asks.
Po assesses the petri dish in front of her. She seems remorseful, at least on the surface. “It's never the same,” she says. There's a perceptible shift in her tone, as if Jamie's experience affected her too.
“Thank you,” he says.
She's quizzical.
“I know it was you who saved me.”
He returns to the pod, a key has been left in the glass doors of the bookshelf cabinet. It's not so much temptation as natural for Jamie to open it and remove the book that wasn't there before; The Caves of Liita. Like the dream the pages are blank. Another Foundation tease. It's no matter, he's been energy free since he emerged from sleep and the idea of reading a thousand page volume is low on his priorities. Po is on his mind—and then in front of him—as the sliding doors open.
“Reading my mind again?”
“I don't read them per se.”
“But you do read them?”
Po's reluctant to talk about herself, however a growing bond between her and Jamie allows the smallest of openings. “It's a combination of factors,” she says, “purely reading minds would be hell.”
Jamie's beginning to understand why she's the way she is. To exist in this world with that ability.
“My 'gift' is manageable.”
“The foundation is sanctuary then?”
“I wouldn't go that far.”
“You're treating me differently, you know that?”
“Because you're changing.”
“I'm just tired, I don't have the energy to rile you.”
“Could be that. But you're changing.”
“Said by someone who's been through this.”
“It's never the same,” she says. Po picks up The Caves of Liita. “It's an advanced text, surprised it appeared in the dream. More surprising because you hadn't seen it before.”
“You can't be sure.”
She hops on the bed, glancing to see if Jamie cares. He doesn't. She kicks off her shoes and lies back crossways, her small feet dangling off the edge. “It's a rare book,” she says, “I believe they're all accounted for.”
“Have you read it?”
“No, I haven't found the source of happiness.”
He doesn't know if she's serious. Either way it's easier to hear this come from her lips than those of Ray's. She seems more real than him, so it's natural he reclines next to her. Po shuffles a little closer. She touches his hand, his smooth fingers.
“So,” he says, a little unsure of where this is heading. She hasn't run away, or stuck a knife in him, which is nice. She replies with smiling eyes and squeezes his hand.
“No, sorry, still haven't found the source of happiness.”
She breaks into a smile. Laughter ripples through her body and into her heart and cheeks. It's infectious. Jamie laughs in hiccups and between the two of them it becomes unbridled and unstoppable as all the angst in the world releases.
The source of happiness Jamie finds out is another obtuse concept. Po's not even sure Ray has found it. For them and the few followers left of the foundation it's become a holy grail. Worthy, considering the alternative—joining the slavery of minds. Po's tied to the hope of the other. She's sorry Jamie had a rough time in the ionizer but argues for the necessity of profound experience to strengthen him for what awaits. She leaves it at that. Only so many beans to be spilt. She can't remember the cliché of breaking eggs to make an omelette so her argument tails off. The monster is just a reflection of who Jamie is, the sooner he accepts, the sooner he'll face the next test. Jamie's had enough of tests. He wants a job.
“Maybe you can help fix our servers? They're playing up.”
“Job's that pay,” replies Jamie. The thaw is coming to an end. Po seems tired of him but there's something about her that cares.
“Be careful out there Jamie.”
“Was doing a pretty good job before I met you guys.”
“It's not what I mean. It's different now, even if you can't see it. The negate transfigurantes.” He doesn't want to hear more but indulges Po out of politeness and the recent improved relations.
“They congregate in places of power,” she says, “not so much negative in an evil sense but making sure you're stuck in their world.”
It's sad for Jamie, he concludes he doesn't really understand her. Po seems distant, spirited away by a nonsensical quest. He makes a half-hearted promise to look at their 'set up' in his own time.
The refusal to continue went unopposed by Ray and, without someone to rub against returning home, was anti-climactic. Faced with a cold apartment, a queasy stomach, and an unmade bed, Jamie was left with holograph messages. There's one. It's the blue eyes. Jamie has another interview. It's a little odd because it's at unpronounceable. It was a good thing they didn't keep a record of his previous interview, she tells him. Jamie hopes for a different HR executive, but more so that the position hasn't been filled.
“Lets not make this difficult.” Grace hides her embarrassment with a statement of blame. She sees the same man who was there a couple of weeks before, not Po's version, the man who's changing. Jamie catches himself, wonders how she was his fantasy and shakes his head. Fortunately Grace's eyes are buried in her screen.
“Well congratulations, you qualified this time.”
Thank you won't escape his lips, and it tumbles out in the form of a cough.
Grace ignores him. “We'll be in touch.”
“And the job is?”
“We'll let you know in due course. But what I can say is, you're very lucky.” Jamie loosens the tension in his shoulders. “We have yoga too,” she says, “we'll send the offer and agreement—and take your time, we don't want any rash decisions, do we?” He would take the job right there and then, even if it was tea boy.
At home he double-checks his firewall before searching for The Caves of Liita. It hasn't been tampered with but his absence for a few days concerns him, especially with the XXLI job offer. He questions his good fortune—he wasn't a lucky person and decides to reconfigure his protection before accessing the outside world. It turns out to be unnecessary. The Caves of Liita draws a blank. He thinks about checking the underground network. Any search that came up so bare was a prime candidate for further investigation but it also meant trouble. The Source Foundation must have tread on some big toes back in the day, a likely explanation for why it looked so wiped out. He's interrupted by the personalized agreement from XXLI. A hundred-thirty-five pages he's required to read and sign off on each section. He's an hour in before he reaches the code of ethics. The first page is about bathroom usage. He signs off.
The midnight dog walkers are out in full force with Jack Russell's and Chihuahua's, good urban pets to snap away unwanted conversations. It suits Jamie fine as he heads over to Vic's, a diner he used to frequent when he had a job. Now that things are turning for the better he feels he can indulge. Vic's is over energized with music and youthful customers. It's designed to obliterate the environs, the unfulfilled lives. It's what he always liked about the place. Masquerading as a house of edge and attitude, it was in truth an ode to an age of innocence. When he takes a seat, he's a little bothered by his reality. He's here to satisfy a craving, a Congolese velvet chocolate shake. It arrives teasing him, chocolate dripping over the rim. Not everything has to have a meaning he tells himself. A sixteen-year-old girl slides into the seat opposite; she doesn't introduce herself but parades luminous yellow skin and a fake fur coat.
“That's some shake,” she says.
Jamie offers her a straw. It's too big for him alone—that's the deal at Vic's—everything's too big, you attract the other by the need to share. Sometimes you get freeloaders, sometimes intellectuals who need someone to listen to them, and at other times sixte
en-year-old girls you couldn't tell if they were freeloaders or destined to be intellectuals or both. Jamie slurps with her and watches chocolate dribble down her chin. She's flirting with him, and he plays along wiping the dark track off her yellow skin. “Have you heard of the source foundation?”
“The rav club?”
She's so young, another generation away from him. He slurps and, in the blink of an eye, she's whisked away by her boyfriend who had been yelling ‘Zelda’ for a while.
On his way home he skirts groups of teens, cliques, and homeless. He prefers the quiet of dark alleys in the early hours where footsteps echo and his mind can churn uninterrupted. A freedom of sorts. He reaches the corner of Henderson Street. Saturday night in full swing. Youth in glitzy clothes swarm drunk and high. They mix with blue lights and sirens before being hauled into trucks and redistributed to their homes in the suburbs. On the other side of the road there's a vending machine vying for his attention. Something new. Another XXLI product. Now he's about to work for them he takes an interest and decides to buy a latte with random latte art. A barista pops up on a screen with a smile and a wink and makes the latte as ordered. It's an effective recording, when the barista hands over the cup, it glides out of the machine at counter level. The latte art is of a perfect heart. The universe is teasing him, he thinks. He must follow the ruse.
*****
First day uncertainties. A new environment. The tease continues with Grace. It's not her doing, just the way the company operates. She's to be Jamie's personal HR contact throughout his stay, to guide him should any difficulties occur and chart an effective career path if he so desires. Rapid progression and rewards are an attraction for many employees. She touches the wall, a safety deposit box slides out and she places it in front of him. Inside is a silver ring.
“Put it on,” she says, “any finger.” He hasn't looked at his hand this way before. He chooses his right pinkie, the least important, the irreverent choice. The ring is loose at first but after a few seconds automatically tightens around his finger. “Squeeze it twice to take it off.” He does and the ring expands. Jamie plays with it as Grace continues, “It allows access to your department and work station.” She hands him a form to sign. He looks at her. Another one? “Yes,” she says, “it's specifically for your department.”
“Department xH?”
“You need to sign before I can tell you.”
“Do you have a pen?”
“Read first.”
Grace watches Jamie speed read and is there with a pen when he's done. The black ink soaks into the paper. She doesn't tell him what xH is. “Follow me.” Grace leads him inside the elevators and shows him where to place the ring. Jamie's disoriented by the lack of floor numbers inside the elevator. It's only for this section of departments, she tells him. Still, he feels the rapid rise of height in the pit of his stomach until it arrives at unknown floor. A few steps off the elevator they reach large silver and oak panelled doors.
“Are you ready?” she asks. Jamie nods.
“Welcome to Project Happiness.”
The universe is definitely playing with him.
Before Jamie is a huge split level office with thirty foot ceilings, luscious tropical plants worthy of botanical gardens, and twelve works stations filled with casually dressed multi-taskers too busy to notice them walk in. His heart sinks a little. Males outnumber females. One of the guys does see them and bounds over. He’s a podgy chap with chocolate smudges on his face and shirt.
“Halloo,” says the guy, “you must be Jamie.” He gives Jamie a belter of a handshake and a wink to Grace. “Beanoe, the one in charge.”
“I'll leave the two of you,” says Grace.
“Thanks Gracie!”
“As I said Jamie, you're lucky.” And with that Grace escapes the office.
“Got a tough one there,” says Beanoe. He pirouettes and lets out an ear-piercing wolf whistle. In an instant the office turns into a party; balloons, streamers, disco ball, and a cake. Jamie's bewildered.
“I know,” says Beanoe, “not what you expected. We'll introduce you as we go—thank god you arrived—we've gone a whole week without cake. Belgian chocolate too.” He pushes Jamie forward. There's a message to the knuckles in Jamie's back. Beanoe's confirming he's in control and not to be trifled with. Friendliness at a price. Beanoe addresses the office, “Everyone, say hello to Jamie.”
Everyone sings from the same song sheet, “Hi Jamie.”
Immediately half his new colleagues are noses down, back to work. Beanoe nudges Jamie again.
“Oh. Hi.”
“A little shy,” says Beanoe, “that's okay, you'll soon get into it.”
“So, Project Happiness?”
“Phase One,” says Beanoe.
“How many are there?”
“Don't know. Don't care. We do our job. We laugh, get laid, get paid, go home—not necessarily in that order—don't always get laid either. Ha.” Jamie's not sure what to make of Beanoe, he's anachronistic, the sort of person he'd want to hate but there's a desirable quality about him, a charm of sorts, a man for the good times.
“What do I do?” asks Jamie.
“Do?” Beanoe seems to find a joke in everything. “Nothing! Tomorrow's your real start, today's half over.” He climbs a step to whisper in Jamie's ear, “Work hard. Play hard. Do the best. You get the best. It's a taste of what's to come.”
His tipsy eyes are on green number six. He's forgotten most of their names. What matters is pocketing the ball. He focuses once again, a marionette, someone else pulling the strings. He slams the pool ball into the corner pocket triggering high fives all around. Jamie stumbles to the bar giddy; he hasn't felt like this in a while.
Beanoe's lined up his empty pint glasses on the counter and drags Jamie over. “See,” Beanoe says, “I count. I know my limits. Live within them. Comes with age.” Jamie finds it funny, Beanoe can't be older than thirty-five.
“I'm serious,” says Beanoe, the man in charge, “live within them and you'll find happiness.”
Aware Beanoe's drunk, but meaning what he says, Jamie's entered a danger zone. He doesn't want to insult Beanoe on his first day, the new boss and his life philosophy, so he swallows his potential undoing. “I better go,” he says.
“I'm serious, you know. It's all them people trying to go after the unattainable. They're the one's unhappy, never satisfied. You see that, yeah?” Jamie nods. “All we needs is right in front of us, right in front of us.” Beanoe thinks there's something mighty important to add, but it slips him by. “Another pint, Lilly!”
“I better go. And I get it, I get it,” tails off Jamie.
“Good man. Turn up on time. That's all we ask. Eight tomorrow.”
“Sure.” Jamie struggles with his jacket and, as a curious drunk, asks Beanoe how he got into the organization. Beanoe doesn't understand. Thinks it's obvious how. Jamie fumbles his words. He meant how did Beanoe get to where he was at unpronounceable. The words tumble forth as an insult. Jamie knows he's in a pickle. Beanoe gives him a sober stare.
“That's a little personal for the first day.”
Jamie zips himself up in every way possible and heads for the nearest door passing two colleagues making out. He can't remember their names—Julie he thinks—but he kind of fancied her, and a tinge of jealousy colors his early understanding of office dynamics.
“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie!”
“Grace, it's a dream.”
“It's a nightmare, it's ten after eight!”
Jamie's eyes twist open to see Grace on the holograph. “Get in a cab now.”
“Oh fuck.”
Halfway across the office, Jamie's conscious of tiptoeing and Beanoe's absence. There's a deathly hush. He's being ignored. The group in their collective silence inform he's done wrong. He sits at his desk making himself comfortable. It's a nice chair but no one seems interested in telling him what to do. He can't believe he's offended everyone on day two. He flashes his ring at the terminal a
nd it glows an anti-depressant light in recognition but no more. He's on trial. His new colleagues let him stew for a couple of minutes before someone pipes up and tells him to wait for Beanoe. When Beanoe does arrive he's dismissive of the tardiness, Jamie can make up for it at the end of the day, including the time he's been waiting for Beanoe.
A monkey indeed could do his first task. He's to take a crate of thumbprint memory keys and copy them to the x drive, then destroy them in the disintegrator. If he makes it to the end of the week Beanoe will let him know what they're for.
At the end of the week Beanoe doesn't say and Jamie's too numb to ask. His colleagues have been silent and the only other revelation in his first week is the location of the bathroom. It's the door next to it that intrigues, Beanoe refused to say where it leads. After the pettiness Jamie's actually looking forward to meeting Grace for a first week appraisal.
“Grace, a monkey could do what I'm doing.”
“No one's ever complained before.”
“And I'm getting triple minimum wage?”
“As I've said numerous times, you're lucky. And, quite frankly, I don't need to know the specifics of your job. I'm sure Beanoe has something planned for you.”
“So I'm back next week?”
“It's a permanent position. Beanoe can't fire you because you're late on one day.”
“Oh.”
“Don't be ridiculous. Keep your head down and everything will be okay.” She can see his question. “Yes, that is what I do. I value my job.”
The Code of Happiness Page 4
