“And the first time we met?”
“Erased,” says Grace. “Everything.”
There's progress, even the odd smile from a work colleague the following week. The week after will bring a word, and the week thereafter a sentence. Incremental improvements Jamie can live with. His tasks have jumped a level. He's now verifying codes. Beanoe's secretive. He only lets on they're from the thumbprint drives and ‘other sources.’ Beanoe insists it's baby steps, Jamie will soon see the overall importance. No wonder people dress in black and gray. In the middle of the week Jamie muses as to whether Beanoe is high and OCD as he navigates the office in robotic fashion casting an eye on every minor detail. Backs are stiffened and fingers type faster to Beanoe's words: He's coming.
“Who?” Jamie asks Julie.
“Blaze,” she says.
Six-foot-two, half Botox, half Buddha, the self-made legend, founder and CEO of XXLI, the unpronounceable corporation, is known to transform a room with a smile. And he does. The tension evaporates from the floor of Department xH on his arrival. Even Jamie grins. And he's not quite sure why. Blaze congratulates them on moving toward a new breakthrough, new territory, territory Jamie has no part in because he's been kept in the dark. He's embarrassed to be in the room, to take any credit. He hopes Blaze doesn't speak to him, a wish that vanishes unrealized as Blaze spots the new face in department xH. He clasps Jamie's hand, life breathing through his eyes, as if the power of one hundred spotlights bear down on Jamie at once. The new employee swallows his saliva to cover his dry throat and nerves.
“Do you know what you are doing?” asks Blaze.
Jamie's transfixed, thoughts cordoned off from entering his mind.
“I bet you don't,” says Blaze.
“He only started last week,” defends Beanoe.
“Would you allow me to explain?”
Beanoe backs off, barely audible. He's a wimp for all that bravado. Blaze commands the floor. They've all heard it before, yet each time Blaze has a way of delivering fresh bites of sound to motivate as if he's casting magic dust.
The information collected is coded by country, region, city, neighborhood, demographic, season, daily weather, local events, global catastrophe, and the latest trend. The responses to their products are measured and coded at any given moment in time, and somewhere hidden in there is the ultimate moment, the moment of happiness. It's going beyond algorithms of intellectual preference, it's tapping into the emotion of joy. What Jamie and his team are doing is searching for the code of happiness.
Blaze. His charisma envelops Jamie.
“The code to improve what we provide the world. A code creating endless happiness. A win-win for all.” The office bursts into applause with the exception of Jamie who's overwrought by Blaze's energy. “What do you think?” he asks Jamie.
“No one told me.”
“Protection Jamie. It takes a while to find the right person for the job. And you have a talent, don't you?” And before he can arouse Jamie's suspicions, says, “Like the rest of your colleagues.” Blaze rubs his hands with glee. “The perfect team, are you not? Beanoe, I hope you'll be moving Jamie on next week, we don't want him to waste.” Beanoe gives his guarantee. On Blaze's exit the lights dim and his grip on Jamie is released. Poor Jamie. Queasy, insides churning, while his colleagues are riddled with excitement and jealous of the attention Blaze lavished on him.
Jamie crumples over the toilet and throws up. It's several minutes before Beanoe checks on him and tells him to go home. He doesn't want their 'prize' employee to be damaged and offers him a free cab ride. The sarcasm washes over Jamie. The world is washing over him. On the way home people and glass towers drip wet and glossy. He's desperate for the cab to get him to his bed where he can curl up for protection and fend off the sickness, ease his afflicted mind, one confused with concepts of happiness.
His bed fails to provide safety. It's cold and lonely. There's expired Nightguard to help him sleep and he takes it even though it's the middle of the day. It's the middle of the night when he awakes and tries to fill in the gaps. Blaze and Ray. They're related somehow, different yet the same. He drifts off to sleep again and when he awakes is refreshed with lingering doubts. He's not ready to speak to Ray and not sure he wants to return to work, but he's a strangely loyal creature—and work pays.
*****
The weeks slip by unnoticed as Jamie and the team analyze data and search for patterns in the codes, the unifying moment of joy. It mixes monotony with thrill. Blaze has inspired them with the worthy goal of finding happiness for all. Better products mean less waste for Jamie. Even his parents would appreciate such sentiments. Beanoe finally opens up on a night out. He was manager at the Jolly Taxpayer when Blaze walked in one day and loved what he did. When the place burnt down they decided to build condos, and Blaze offered him a job. Beanoe's in flow. Must be the onset of Christmas, Jamie thinks, the reaching out for friends, camaraderie, and a good time. Beanoe wants to be real, heart real. He tells Jamie he proposed in a cab just like the one they're in now, glass roof, twinkling lights. They both gaze at the artificial splendor. Did it work? Of course it did. The Beanoe way, endless champagne and strawberries. It was perfect. Beanoe's genuinely surprised—he's still married.
Darkness lurches on the corners, the homeless. “The poor wretches,” says Beanoe, “you and I will never be like that.” Jamie lets the condescension slide. He's a good man, Beanoe, or at least trying to be. At the casino Beanoe wins big and Jamie loses it all. Beanoe's generosity extends to throwing Jamie a few chips his way and buying the 'champers and straws.'
“It's like tying the knot again,” jokes Beanoe.
If he's on a mission to get Jamie wasted and to outdo him, he's succeeded. Jamie's dependent on him now, barely able to stand on two feet. A rigorous slap on the shoulders and Jamie projectile vomits over the bar. It amuses Beanoe, if no one else, and leaves Jamie's shamed and apologetic to the two workers in blue overalls who are quicker to the task of clean up than he is to finding a seat. He wants to thank them but Beanoe's pulled him away.
“Know your limits,” he says. “Lucky for you not only is it Friday but you get to see what your work can do.” He whispers into Jamie's ear, “The best way for you to help these puke cleaners is to find the code.”
*****
He's into overtime mode, the informality of department xH allowing hair and stubble to grow. There's an addiction to creating and running programs to find the code. The interior world of searching blocks the outside and its malcontent. In reality it does the same to the discontent inside. It's all brain so Jamie needs the heart and chooses it when he orders a latte. A smile. A wink. The human touch. They've updated the program so you can choose your barista now.
“Grace, I don't understand.”
“Overtime and productivity bonuses.”
“Have doubled my wage?”
“Unpronounceable employees are well regarded.”
“It's weird.”
“Most people wouldn't question. They'd just take.”
He takes delivery of a new white sofa and bed. He's trying to ape the comfort of the pod. Home had never been the same since his dalliance with Ray and Po. Home had never been home. It was always a transitory space, never putting roots down. Each space he'd lived in accumulated objects, junk or otherwise. He ignored them as they overtook rooms. It was the easiest thing to do. Now he was aware of how he lived; the relationship of objects to a room, tidiness could be an expression of his soul if he wanted, a room at home the extension of his true being.
*****
“I like this Po. Well paid. Respected. Who wouldn't? I'm not saying it's perfect, but I can partake in life and it's doing some good. You know, I may even be happy.”
Uttering those words out loud is more to convince himself. And it does to a degree. He's buying time before he makes a definitive claim life is peachy, or at the least, working. Po had pounced on him when the new holo set arrived. He didn't invite her in but pro
mised to meet up with her on his new territory. It was a bad move. The place was hurting the conversation. He saw her disdain at the fake chicness of the pub. If they do this again he'd go somewhere she approves.
“Instant gratification, that's all you want and there is none,” she says.
“There is. Of course there is.”
“It don't last.”
“It can. You continue. You do something else that's satisfying. Just because you're not interested doesn't mean the rest of us should turn a blind eye.”
“Nice choice of phrase.”
“And what's wrong with a bit of success.”
“A bit? Why box yourself in, limit yourself?”
“Live within your limits, and you'll find happiness.”
How those hollow words slipped out bewilders Jamie.
Po laughs at him. “You know what's in your limits? Keeping a promise, having a look at our servers.”
“Yeah, well, life got a little busy.”
It's a lame excuse, he knows, but keeping the dialogue flowing and on point seems pointless. They're going nowhere unless you count circles. Po was fast becoming an object. She wields a glare and pulls a snow globe from her pocket. Inside is a blob of yellow slime.
“A souvenir,” she says as she slides it across to him. He takes the hint. There's unfinished business. But his life now is all things unpronounceable. The Source Foundation is where it had always been, in the shadows.
“You've been eaten up by the machine,” she says.
He wouldn't expect less. She's never been on the other side. It's always easy to criticize from the outside, and he was there not so long ago. He watches her button up her camel coat, his compassion in danger of becoming patronizing. Another disappointing end. Po can't help a snide remark about the fireplace. It's real, but somehow they've made it look fake. Funny little creature, he thinks, the closer you get the more elusive she becomes.
Walls up, relationship regressing, Jamie tries a direct approach. “What's with you and Ray?”
Her small frame hovers over him. It doesn't deserve an answer.
“He helped me once. Nothing in it for him. Just helped.” She slips her hands into her pockets, ready to leave, her mind stuck on something she hasn't found the right way to say. Jamie's perceptive side picks up.
“Are we going to do this again?”
She gives it some thought.
“Those five who disappeared? The one's they've linked? All of them worked for Blaze.”
It's a touch melodramatic for Jamie.
“Half the country works for him,” he says.
“All at his HQ?”
“And how do you know this, paranoid Po?”
Her eyes are about to strike home. “Because, like you, they all came through the doors of the foundation.”
“Anything else?”
“If you must. Ray's the father I never had.” She coats her lips with what's left of her Burgundy and delivers a coquettish glance. She's taking the piss.
It's bull, he thinks, as he watches her leave. People make stuff up. She and Ray just want him back. For what, who really knows and, frankly, who cares. It's the emphasis though on the father she never had that grates. She's touched a nerve. He races to the door, surprising her.
“What do you know about me, Po?”
She meets it with a shrug.
“You've never said.”
He lies on the white sofa; Po the manipulative on his mind. True. He's told them nothing. What they had was a facsimile, recorded history found by means foul or fair. She can't expect him to believe her spurious claims about the five. There was nothing in the news, not that he read much beyond headlines. Surely there would be some coverage, at least investigations at XXLI. It couldn't go unnoticed, or unreported; it was too obvious. As for all of the five disappeared going through the foundation, it was merely coincidence, and that's if he believed her. With trust gone, realization dawns; they had played him. Like good cop, bad cop. He laughs at his naiveté, how blind he was. Po's accusation was the final break he needed from her and Ray and their archaic beliefs. It had plagued him since he left. He could never quite be shot of John Charles Cavour and his theories. They had crawled around his subconscious like a truth always denied. Now, at last, the knot was severed.
*****
Where one line fades another emerges. Grace is late and Jamie is early for their bi-weekly session. Their worlds collide in the corridor, in part because Grace is wearing a dress of red polka dots on cream and not black and gray. She's guessed Jamie's noticed and sparks an exchange by pulling at her new outfit. “Thought I'd give it a try.”
“It's great.”
“You think so? I don't know what came over me yesterday; it was if it was calling out 'buy me.' So I did.”
“It's the sort of thing we work on.” He winks. He truly likes this. The change. It gives him hope. Grace had thawed over the weeks. He can't pinpoint exactly what happened but regular meetings incubated the familiar and hostility receded. It had occurred to him these were appointments other employees didn't seem to have, but as he was using them to balance out his workweek he didn't seem to mind and wasn't going to question. In the vastness of the corporation both needed an anchor however unlikely the attachment. Relationship building hadn't been his strong suit, and this was opportunity to redefine himself before he got stuck in middle age. The idea of turning thirty had gone from dread to enthusiasm as he saw himself maturing as a human being. All that thrashing around in his twenties seemed passé as a clear path presented itself. Every day was a step further from his past, and he welcomed it. Still, he was wary about missteps though and allows Grace ahead of him into her office.
Unbeknown to them, Blaze was watching, accidentally at first as he turned a corner. He saw something they didn't and couldn't be expected to see, the sprouting of an office romance. There was something else too, an occurrence that could wait for the appropriate time.
In the weeks that followed another unlikely ally was found in Beanoe who connected with him over games. With his new holograph Beanoe was practically in his living room when the 'old lady' allowed. Jamie became part of the steel elevators gliding through the heart of XXLI, a fixture in Department xH. He identified anomalies and falsities faster than anyone else. The programs he developed became more accurate at weeding out redundant data, and they were appreciated as the incoming data increased exponentially. The company owned what he created, but creation and sharing of ideas was encouraged. What Jamie had thought was a department several years old, was in existence barely eighteen months before he started, most of which was beta testing. It explained the vibe when he first arrived. Most were uncertain about the future and they were crossing boundaries in attempting to do what the world outside considered unethical, if not mad. They were in a pressure cooker, needing to find the new, and it had to take its toll in some way. The botanical floor on which they worked was designed to be a sanctuary to allow the craziest idea on the planet to flourish. Beanoe loosened his grip, as he grew more comfortable and less threatened. They all knew he wasn't there for expertise on code but to foster a good time. Dated he may have been—only relating to old texts on group motivation—but it had charm and seemed to work. Ideas thirty years old were fresh and relevant again. It was part of Blaze's approach to have people from different backgrounds work together. He didn't care if men and women dressed the same, and if out there the world seemed bland and monolithic, but in the hub of XXLI the unpronounceable corporation he didn't want people to think the same way. He identified Beanoe for leadership, to 'buzz up' the conformist lives of those who thought they needed to behave in order to get ahead. It was in this environment Jamie unexpectedly thrived. He was in tune, his mind in sync with the flow of data.
“What is it?”
“I'm not sure.”
“Go back.”
He does.
“Must be my eyes.”
“Re-examine the last minute.”
He does.
/>
“Nothing there.”
“What do you think it was?”
“I can't say.”
“I trust you Jamie.”
“Thought I'd seen the same reference before.”
“Take a break.”
He does. The perfect latte heart from the perfect two-dimensional barista. For the first time he thought they should be in 3D.
“Too expensive for a coffee machine,” says Beanoe. “Do you want to have another go?
“It was a fraction of a second. It could've been imagination.”
He crashes at home. Lime chips sting his tongue. He scrolls through the city's live venues unable to choose whom to send his hard earned pennies to for an evening performance. The mega bands were only available if the concert sold out leaving bands who could only attract three men and a dog. There was always classical now he was maturing, or maybe some light jazz. He stares at the list and draws a blank. He's mind in a body, heart forgotten, working in code now. And there it was again. A nanosecond. The code. A code out of place, that didn't belong. Then it was gone, into the ether, untraceable. Twice now. Was someone trying to speak to him or just watching him? Old fears surfaced. He could turn neurotic. While anonymous as an office worker, he had lost a degree of privacy. Po could blab to the underground, or if he had been sloppy they could've added him to a watch list after capturing meta data. In the mix of good work they did they also embraced baffling conspiracy theories, and some of the good work was prone to bias. His firewall was intact. Safety for the moment assured. He had no hard evidence of what or who, but vigilance was required from this point on.
The Code of Happiness Page 5
