Story Excerpt: The Last God of Tacoma

Derek Cale walked into the sterile glass and tile lobby of the Tacoma Credit Union Building at a quarter to eight. Most people worked from home, but those that came in arrived around nine-ish.

Derek came early and left late every day, according to the entrance and exit records. As the one of the quality software testers on the team, he loved the quiet emptiness of the office, especially on the edges of the day. But he especially loved the appearance.

Derek put in very little work for TCU. Because TCU was as big as it was, and because he provided estimates and completed his work, he got away with it. Derek wrote software tests but had offloaded that long ago to coding AI software that was so much better at it anyway. Derek had effectively hidden himself among the 2,000 employees; lost himself, as some shrewd people do, in the hive that made up a large organization. That was why he was able to draw a salary, and merely play at working. Why work harder for a five percent raise, when he was making three percent each year for much less effort?

Thus, every day Derek came in early, plugged his laptop in to have it connect to the wi-fi network, started his key-tabber software to toggle between applications at random intervals so that the screen/ wouldn’t lock, and left for the day, only coming back after rush hour to pick his laptop up and leave for the night.

He was alone in the elevator when it shot upward. He was alone when he stepped out on the fourth floor. But after unlocking the doors across the hall from the reception room, he was immediately aware that he was not alone.

From down the long, pastel-green, fluorescent-lighted corridor on his left had come, and still came, the sound of a voice. A high-pitched male voice, totally unfamiliar to Derek Cale. There was no answering voice, so the man was using a cell phone.

Derek strode toward the voice, sandals thudding softly on the black squares of asphalt tile. The voice stopped. Derek kept going, watching the seemingly endless line of open space desks on his right for a light. And he saw the light in the conference room ahead.

He stopped, his long, smooth face crinkling in a swift smile. He took a quick, silent step, and jerked open the door. The man seated behind the desk was middle-aged, fat, and solemn. He had bright blue eyes and jet-black hair. “Good morning,” he said in his high-pitched voice, but with a slow cadence. “I’m Eduardo Garcia. This is my first day.”

So that explained it, and Derek was ready to back out as gracefully as possible. But then he noticed how meek Garcia seemed, and decided to stay a few moments. He came forward with hand out-stretched. “Welcome aboard, Eduardo. I’m Derek Cale. Der to you.” They shook hands. “New employee, eh?”

Garcia nodded and smiled. “Then I am Ed to you.”

Derek put his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “No one bothered to inform me that you were coming. I’ll have to check with Ashley. She may have heard and forgotten to mention it.”

“Is she your admin?”

Derek said, “Not exactly,” and regretted having given into his impulse to act important. “Well, work’s calling.” He chuckled. “Though for future reference, Ed, you needn’t come in until nine or so. Most people here—”

“Yes, I know, but I am an early riser. I’ll be here each morning at eight-thirty, perhaps earlier.”

Derek decided he didn’t like Garcia. There was something vaguely off-putting in the way the man spoke. No accent, but more a matter of offbeat timing.

“Oof, I’m afraid that’s not feasible, Ed,” Derek said. He didn’t need someone to disrupt his routine. “It’ll probably be a week or more before a keycard is issued to you, and they have entrance restrictions for some of us. “

“I too have a key.” The fat man beamed. “That solves our little problem, doesn’t it?”

“How’d you get….” He stopped short. Time to leave. Should never have come in here in the first place. This man isn’t an ordinary employee!

“Is there anything wrong, Der?”

Derek smiled. “Wrong? Of course not. Just thought of an urgent bit of business. Again, welcome aboard, Ed.”

“And again, thank you, Der.” Garcia smiled, somewhat apologetically. “And again, that question.”

“What question?”

“Is Ashley your administrative assistant?”

“I answered it,” Derek said, and found it hard to smile. “I said she wasn’t.”

“No, Der,” Garcia said, right hand rising, index finger lifting scholastically. “You said, and I quote, ‘Not exactly.’ That indicated semi-admin status.”

Derek was immediately frightened. He fought it by telling himself he was jumping to conclusions. There was no reason in the world to assume that the man was a company spy, especially since Tacoma Credit Union never had been known to employ such methods.

He laughed. It was a rich, hearty, booming, self-confident laugh, developed by means of long practice with his recording app. Hearing it, he was able to form an answer. “Actually, Ed, Ashley is the office manager. She does all sorts of stuff. She assigns new desks, as she probably will for you?”

“No. Chester said to choose any empty desk that pleased me.”

Chester? Chester Park, the CEO?

Derek opened the door and waved his arm and chuckled and nodded and exuded good will, and said, “See you, Ed.”

“Der,” Mr. Garcia said, rising. He was extremely tall; at least six-foot four, with most of his height in his legs. “If Ashley is floor manager, what are you?”

“I’m in QA,” Derek said, and was horrified to hear his shortness of breath, his panicked panting. He fought for control. “I work with her, but we all do.” He had the door open now, and stepped through it sideways. “You’ll soon learn what that means, Ed. We all stay loose here. No rigid adherence to rules. No frenzied competition. No sweat. Get it?”

Mr. Garcia’s face looked blank. He shook his head. “I am afraid not, Der. Sunil said that each employee has a position, a function, a title, and performs within sharply defined areas. I am listed as Senior Software Developer in Engineering Test. You too are listed as a Senior SDET, but I think you’re still in the L30 band.”