Geek Actually Season 1 Omnibus

by Cathy Yardley

  “Here we go,” Bailey said.

  He went over a few other perks, but she could sense the mutinous energy of the guys. She bet that several of them would be leaving by the end of the day—which was really too bad. Still, expensive or not, she was sure they could replace the engineers they needed to. Hell, most of the programming talent in Austin worked at Starwisp—or wanted to. She imagined the positions wouldn’t be vacant for long.

  “Taneesha,” Frank Miller said, motioning to her before she could file out with the others. “Could you stay behind for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  She felt nervous, although she knew she didn’t really have any reason to. And at least this guy had gotten her name right, unlike Blond Brad.

  Frank waited until the others left, then shut the door behind them. Now they’d get down to brass tacks, she thought. Time to show your stuff, girl.

  “Are you happy with the acquisition? Glad to be a part of Starwisp?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I’ve loved working for Maniac Games, don’t get me wrong. But I’d like the opportunity to grow, and be more challenged.”

  Frank looked at Brad, then gestured to Taneesha to sit back down at the conference room table. She did, sitting near Brad. Frank continued to pace.

  “We are very, very happy that you’ve joined the team,” Frank said, and she felt her chest warm with pride. “You graduated with honors, and you can work system side and platform side. That’s impressive.”

  “Thank you.” She struggled not to smile, but did anyway.

  “We’d like to make sure that you stay on the team, and that you know just how much Starwisp values you,” he said. “You’ve obviously done a lot of work, and we feel that you’re crucial to our objectives moving forward.”

  “Thank you,” she repeated, feeling an almost surreal sense of lightness.

  “In fact—we wanted to make sure that you realized it.” He smiled, but it looked odd—like he wasn’t used to the expression. It was a little creepy, actually.

  Brad piped up. “What Frank is trying to say is, we’ve authorized a six percent raise for you.”

  Her eyes popped. “Wait, what?”

  “We value your contributions. And here at Starwisp, we realize that… well, money talks, and bullshit walks.” Brad looked a little sheepish.

  “I can’t… I don’t know what to say. Other than thank you,” she said, flabbergasted.

  “No. Thank you, for choosing to stay,” Frank said.

  “Well, since you’re here, maybe we can talk about the integration,” she said. “I had some ideas on how we could…”

  “Oh. Oh, no,” Brad said, pushing back from the table and putting his hands up. “We’re more… upper management. You’ll be getting a senior programmer, and an architect who will be overseeing Galactic Assassin.”

  “We don’t want to get in the way of his plans,” Frank added.

  Hold up. His plans? Taneesha narrowed her eyes, and the feeling of lightness and pride and happiness slowly started to plummet.

  “But I’m a senior programmer on this project,” she said.

  Brad looked uncomfortable. “Ah… from an HR standpoint, the titles you had at Maniac Games don’t quite line up accurately to our org chart,” he said slowly.

  “What do you mean?” She had a sinking feeling in her stomach, and she knew, she goddamn knew what he was trying to say. But she wanted to hear him say it out loud.

  “You’ll be a programmer, of course. But you will be working with another senior programmer who will be taking the lead for the time being,” Frank said firmly.

  “Of course, you’ll still be ahead of most of the other programmers,” Brad added quickly. “We’ll have another title for you. A commensurate title.”

  “But not senior programmer,” Frank emphasized.

  Of course not, she thought, the grip on her pen tightening. She thought about asking what the title would be, but honestly, it didn’t matter. They’d come up with something that sounded impressive—“Executive Engineering Anomaly” or some shit—but she knew the score.

  “But you’ll still get the raise. Above your current pay,” Brad said. “And think, you won’t have to work quite as hard…”

  He shut up when Frank glared at him.

  “We do hope that you’re happy with the arrangement,” Frank said. “And if there’s anything you need, or if you have any questions, my door’s always open to you.”

  “Oh, you’re here in Austin?”

  Frank blanched. “I meant more figuratively,” he admitted. “I’m out of Seattle.”

  “But we’re only a phone call away, is what Frank meant,” Brad chirped. “So… was that all clear?”

  She smiled, a paper-thin smile.

  I’m a black woman coder. I’m a goddamn unicorn. You want me to stay on because I make your company look good. But God forbid I do any fucking coding. You’re going to have an overseer coming in to do the “real work.” But you want to keep me happy, so you’re going to throw money at me, hoping that I’ll stay—but stay out of the way. You’re going to make the junior programmers pissy when they find out I’m getting paid more for doing their work. You’re going to make the senior programmers pissy that I have a special title but I’m doing less work. And you’re going to give me the mushroom treatment: Keep me in the dark, feed me lots of shit.

  You “value” the hell out of me. You just don’t remember my fucking name.

  “Oh yeah,” she said tightly. “I understand completely.”

  MICHELLE

  All she wanted to do was eat some pho. Was that really so much to ask?

  “Michelle,” Phil Geunther crooned plaintively in her ear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you said not to call. But when you didn’t answer my email, I sort of… panicked.”

  She didn’t sigh, even though she desperately wanted to. She toyed with the rice noodles and bits of flank steak floating in what smelled like really delicious broth. “You only emailed me this morning, Phil.”

  “And yesterday,” he quickly added. “And the day before. I really needed to hear from you. What did you think of my new idea?”

  Now she did sigh. “The one about the zombies?”

  “Zombies are still pretty hot, aren’t they?” he asked. “I mean, this is a new twist, anyway. Think about it: Christ as a zombie. And Catholicism as actual cannibalism!”

  She winced. She thought it was as stupid and cliché and mock-worthy as she did when he’d first emailed her. But he sounded so hopeful.

  “You know what I think, Phil?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I really want to know.”

  “I think you’re on chapter eight of your novel,” she said, as gently as possible. “And you’re stuck, and you’re scared. And right now, you’re grasping at any shiny new idea that comes by, because that’s a fun distraction.”

  He was silent for a moment. She took advantage of that pause to hit her mute button and gulp down a few quick spoonfuls of broth. It made her stomach yowl. Had she forgotten breakfast? What the hell time was it, anyway?

  In her haste, she spilled some soup on her pale green sweater. She cursed silently and quickly patted it with the paltry paper napkins from the pho place. First her hair, now a stain? What next? A broken heel?

  “You’re right,” Phil said finally, with an embarrassed laugh. “I know you’re right. Is it that obvious?”

  “Only because I know you so well.” And she did. After Aditi, Phil had been her next acquisition. She’d worked with him when she was at her old job, since his work was so much more literary, like Margaret Atwood sci-fi as opposed to Robert Heinlein. He was a great asset for Faraday, which was why she let herself play armchair psychologist and professional nanny in addition to being his marketing champion and, of course, editor.

  Editing. That is what they pay me for, she thought, as Phil continued babbling apologies. Wonder when I’ll get to do that this week?

  “Well, I won’t keep you,” Phil said
, then waited.

  “Do you want a homework assignment?” she said, knowing the game and playing it.

  “God, yes. Please.”

  “All right. How about you plow through to chapter ten, and then send that to me?” Not that she’d read it. But she knew he did better with accountability.

  “Can I? That’d be awesome. Thanks!”

  “No problem, Phil.”

  “I’ll talk to you soon!”

  “Not that soon, please God,” she muttered after he hung up. She dug into her soup. Of course, she had a big mouthful when Pam knocked on her doorframe.

  “Tell me you talked to her.”

  Michelle swallowed. “Yes, I talked to Aditi. She’s promised that she’s going to get the articles in.”

  “I need at least one by end of day today,” Pam said sharply.

  What? “I thought you said you didn’t need anything until end of the week,” Michelle said carefully, clamping down on anger.

  “I said that would be drop dead latest,” Pam said with a scowl. “And now io9 is saying they need it ASAP.”

  Goddamnit. After all her careful groundwork with Aditi… but the book needed the push. She’d just have to nudge her again, and make it up later. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Pam disappeared. Michelle grabbed another swallow of soup—letting it cool first this time—then dug her cell phone out of the mire of papers that drifted over it like a blizzard. Ordinarily, she liked her desk pristine, her stacks organized. She’d been so slammed for the past few weeks, her whole world felt… chaotic. She really needed to come in over the weekend, see if she could get things straightened out.

  She started to text Aditi. Hey. Pam needs one blog post today. Just a short one. Can you swing it?

  She frowned, then deleted the last question.

  Just one. I know you can do it, she typed instead. If she posed it as a question, the answer could be no. She couldn’t afford that right now.

  “Say, Jamie?” she called out.

  Before she could even finish the upraised inflection on the question, her assistant was there. Jamie was a godsend, everything she could’ve wanted in an admin. “Sorry! Is everything okay? Lunch okay?”

  “Perfect.” And Jamie was even more awesome for knowing all the best spots for delivery in a three-block radius. She would totally go to bat for Jamie’s raise this year. “When’s Aditi’s next conference appearance? And where?”

  Jamie whipped out her phone and scrolled. “Sorry, give me a second… Aditi Sodhi. She’s scheduled at the Booklovers Con in New Orleans this weekend.”

  Michelle called up her calendar on her computer, double-checking the date. She had stuff going on Friday, but she could probably switch them to conference calls and do them remotely. And she could shift some things around, like lunch with the agents from Trestle. The conference was only a few days out of her schedule, after all, and Aditi was one of her best friends. When was the last time she’d spent time with any of her girls?

  Loneliness, unbidden and sharp, stabbed at her. She shook off the feeling, ignoring the residual pangs.

  “Do me a favor and see if you can get me into that,” she said. “And book me a flight and hotel room, please. Use my card, though, not the expense account.”

  “Sure! I’ll get right on it.” Jamie vanished in a whirl of industriousness.

  New Orleans. She’d never been to New Orleans. It wasn’t like she and Ted had had a vacation in… well, since they were married, she realized.. They’d honeymooned in Florence. That counted for something, right?

  Maybe she should see if he wanted to go. She felt a little guilt nudge at her. Of course, he hadn’t invited her when he’d gone to that writers’ conference in Vancouver. She would have liked that. Then she frowned. No, she wouldn’t have been able to—that would’ve lined up with sales conference, and there was no way she’d have missed that.

  Still… it would’ve been nice to have been asked, she mulled. Maybe he’d like to be asked, too. And he probably wouldn’t be able to go, either, so she’d still have plenty of time to hang out with Aditi.

  She crunched into an imperial roll, chewing thoughtfully, then wiped her hands and reached for her phone. He’d stopped calling, so whatever he wanted was probably taken care of. She should probably just text him. Just as she was about to, though, her computer pinged. Direct message from Gwen.

  Really need you to redo that Sterling Knight revision letter. He’s really upset.

  She gritted her teeth, then bit into the rest of the roll violently. Fucking Sterling Knight—who was really Jerome Osterhaut, at least at birth—was the bane of her existence at the moment. It had taken her weeks to get that edit done, mostly because she’d had to pause every fifteen minutes to squelch the urge to punch someone.

  Yeah, he was hard-core sci-fi. But a working knowledge of physics, some biological terms, and rampant sexism by guys who used women like fast food didn’t exactly make a riveting story. Worse, the character arc had problems.

  All right, she thought, opening up the revision letter. He was going to be a sexist, racist asshat, she got that. Gwen wanted her to overlook it. But she was damned well not going to be associated with a story that fell utterly flat, with two-dimensional characters, weak conflict, and an antagonist who was too stupid to live.

  She’d strip any political criticisms from the letter—try to keep his Men’s Rights Activist side appeased, not to mention any lingering race issues that cropped up, like the fact that all the humans in his world were white as the paper the books were printed on. But she wasn’t going to let him slide on the story structure itself. He was going to respect her as an editor, damn it.

  With that, she let her soup go cold. She’d talk to Ted later, she figured. She had some editing to dish out.

  ELLI

  Bored. Bored. Borrrrrrrrred.

  Elli tapped on the countertop of the coffee shop she worked in, her feet bouncing with nervous energy. It was spring in Toronto, which meant that winter was giving way to the other season—road repair. She could see the guys working on the street out front. It might account for some of the lack of customers, she figured, although some of it might be the fact that there was a new Tim Hortons just a few blocks away.

  She wished she’d called in sick. But she needed the money, and her boss and the owner of the shop, Mr. Pasternak, was supposed to give her a paycheck today. That was the only thing that would get her in the same neighborhood as “enthusiastic” about showing up.

  She wiped down the counter for the fourth time that morning, then surreptitiously looked at the customers. There was a hipster guy with a high man bun, typing away on his laptop—probably working on a book or something, based on the number of times he leaned back, stared at the ceiling, stroked his full lumbersexual beard, and sighed. There was a group of three moms, all talking and sipping lattes as their toddlers slammed toys on the wood floor and yelped at each other in tongues. And there was a woman who seemed to be interviewing a man, both in business attire. The woman glared at the moms and kids as she pitched her voice higher to be heard.

  Elli caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wall that Mr. P. had installed to make the space look larger. In the midst of these people, she looked… well, like a tall weed, she thought with a grin. Her pixie-cut hair was starting to fall into her eyes—she’d probably need a haircut before the next convention. She was wearing an oversized sweater, the kind with holes in the sleeves for her thumbs, and a pair of corduroy pants. Her mother said she looked like Twiggy. She’d had to look up the name on Google—she’d thought it sounded like a cartoon character. Unfortunately, Twiggy was a model, something her mother always swore Elli “could do in a heartbeat.”

  Ha. Elli grinned at her reflection. Only if she was modeling cosplay.

  She pulled her iPhone out from under the counter, doing a quick sweep for Pokémon. She’d used her Pokémon incense about ten minutes before, but had only caught one so far. Taking care of the occasi
onal customer and daydreaming had kept her occupied.

  Outside of idle moments behind the counter, she hadn’t had time for catching Pokémon because she was way behind on making the costume for Fairy Con in a few weeks, and she had to work to pay for her flight to that con. Before that, though, she was tagging along with Aditi, who was going for the Booklovers Convention in New Orleans this weekend.

  For Elli, cosplay was crucial to the trip. For Fairy Con, she was dressing up as Princess Vivian from Dragon’s Crown, one of the most elaborate costumes a cosplayer could try. In the meantime, she’d stick with simpler cosplay for Booklovers. She’d do Galadriel, Celaena Sardothien, and Selene from Underworld for Sunday; she already had those finished. Still, she could finish up her Disney Princess Rey mash-up if she could just get the staff fabricated, and that would be so cool for the Super Soiree. She still needed to get the cash for the rest of that outfit and for her portion of the New Orleans hotel room, though Aditi had been good in the past about floating her when she was short.

  Just as Elli’s phone vibrated in her hand and showed a wild Pidgey appearing on the screen, a man’s stubble-covered jaw dropped into her line of sight. She yelped and dropped her phone on the counter. Another Pokémon chance delayed.

  The man grinned. “Hey? Got a minute? I’m dying for some coffee.”

  The man attached to the jaw was one of the road workers, she noticed immediately. If the bright yellow hard hat hadn’t tipped her off, the neon vest would have. He was smiling at her widely.

  “I sure could use something hot right now,” he said, staring at her.

  Oh, blergh. Flirty construction guy. “It has been cold,” she agreed. “But hey, at least the snow’s mostly melted, right? Spring’s right around the corner.”

  She waited for him to make some kind of friendly, season-related comment, but instead he just leaned on the counter, looking at her expectantly.

  She hated expectations.