8.f.
The Union
decided to accept the offer of new clothes.
General Apathy spoke a command toward the decorations on his uniform and
a few moments later a small staff appeared with a rack of clothes and privacy
screens. The suits on the rack were
crisp clean replicas of the overworked clothing each member of the Union
currently employed.
When the rack
was wheeled away, three suits, two of purple and mauve, one of brown, still
hung from it, swaying slow and melancholy.
They stood,
facing the General. An awkward silence
hovering about them.
“Shall we?”
said General Apathy after a painfully long time.
“What? Go to the meeting?” said Corporate
Man.
“Exactly. I’m sure the Big Bossman is eager to get
things started.”
“Who’s this Big
Bossman?” asked Business Woman.
General Apathy
gestured toward the black diamond shape at the apex of the building and said,
“Why the head of the company, of course.
The man in charge of it all. Let’s not keep him waiting.”
The General
turned abruptly and strolled toward the center of the fifty-second floor and
the odd tiered pyramid that stood there.
The Union followed, though with noticeable
reluctance. When they were halfway
across the floor, the General tossed a look over his shoulder.
“Junior. You’ve been quiet this whole time,” he said.
“It’s Senior
Executive now. And eat shit.”
“Hmm. What a remarkable financial recovery. Congratulations. As to you latter comment, I think I will
politely decline,” said General Apathy.
A moment later her cast another look back and added, “Do you think I
could still call you Junior, just for old time’s sake?”
The resulting
glare from Senior Executive bought a wry grin from the General. They continued the trek across the floor in
silence and when they reached the base of the pyramid structure they halted at
the bottom of a set of stairs.
The pyramid
stood four stories high.
“Those steps
will take us up to the first level,” said General Apathy. “A mix of top level financial advisors and
corporate strategists are seated there.
Please do not interrupt their work or encourage them in any way. It will only delay us.”
He turned,
without much conviction, and walked up the steps.
Corporate Man
and the rest of the Union began to follow.
“Oh, I’m
sorry,” said General Apathy, turning back.
“Commander Credit. You’re
dismissed. Have some diagnostics–”
“Wait a
second. What are you–” Senior Executive
started.
General Apathy
held up his hand and silenced him. “Did
you think the Commander was your ally?”
“He doesn’t
work for you,” Senior Executive shouted.
“Not
exclusively, no,” General Apathy said.
“Technically he’s a freelance agent, but who do you think pays the
majority of his salary? Which agency was
responsible for all of his repairs and upgrades?”
Senior
Executive shot a look at Commander Credit.
The Commander shrugged. Senior
Executive reddened and started to shake.
“Why was he
helping us then?” asked Corporate Man.
“What? Work for those who employ The Crash?” General Apathy asked. “Think of it as a squabble between employees. Something that’s been escalating for a decade
or two.”
“I took the job
to get another crack at the bastard who took my arm.”
“Yeah. You did a bang up job getting your revenge,”
said Franklin Buck.
“Beaten into
unconsciousness. That’s quite the
comeback,” Business Woman said.
“Doesn’t
matter,” said Commander Credit. “My
contract with Senior Executive ended on the twenty-sixth floor. Check the paperwork. I stuck with you because I knew what lay in
wait on floor thirty-nine. Now… Now I’m done.”
Commander
Credit walked off, strolling leisurely across the open floor. A team of tech boys appeared with diagnostic
machines on wheeled carts and began attending him.
“Ah… Such a
tricky, dangerous thing to manage that Commander Credit,” said General
Apathy. “Oh well. Shall we?”
He turned and
strode up the stairs.
