Robert Bennett - The Company Man

“Very nice, Brightly,” said Hayes. “You ought to write that down.”

Brightly glowered at him. He marched up the stairs and said, “Turn off that one and come with me.”

“Right, right,” said Hayes as he left. He turned to the little lamp and examined it. It had several knobs and buttons and switches on it, all of them pretty incomprehensible to him. He stuck his tongue in the corner of his mouth and leaned in, peering through the panels.

… messenger…

Hayes snapped back and stood up. He looked around, but found the room was empty.

“Hello?” he said. But, of course, there was no one there.

He blinked. He knew that sensation. It was the feeling he got when someone came close and a lone thought slipped from their mind to his. That one had just been one word, just “messenger.” Yet there seemed to be no one near.

He looked around again, curious. Then, shrugging, he turned the Sibling off and followed the path Brightly had taken. Hayes found him in a large side room off the corridor, this one much more industrial. As usual, the second he walked through the door Brightly checked his watch and marked the time.

But Hayes barely noticed. There in the center of the room was a Sibling, like the ones he’d just seen, but it was enormous, the size of a cathedral bell. Cables the size of his arm coiled through the many columns, and there nestled in the center was the same little glass chimney, no larger than the ones from the previous lamps. Hayes whistled as he looked the device over.

“Yes,” said Brightly. “This was for an experiment. We loaded this one’s paired Sibling onto a tanker ship, timed a team of watches down to the nanosecond, and floated it out into the middle of the Pacific. Then, at the exact agreed-upon moment, they recorded themselves tapping out a signal on it, and we recorded the reception on our end. When they returned to shore, we compared the two recordings. They were exact. The only delay involved was basic human reaction time. Even though there were countless storms in the way.

“When we first made the airships we thought oceans and seas didn’t matter. We could cross them without thought. But that was just a passing fancy. Now we know better. Now those great distances are truly immaterial. We’re going to make a new age, Hayes. In the next few years, the world will get smaller and smaller. Do you see?”

“I see,” said Hayes.

“Now do you understand why your task is so important?”

“Just for the Siblings?”

“Not just for them. This is but an example. One that may truly revolutionize the world.”

Hayes thought, then shrugged. “I still don’t see why I can’t go after Tazz.”

Brightly’s smile shivered a bit. He stiffly shook his head. “By God, sometimes you are the most useless fool I’ve ever met,” he said through his grin. Then he pushed open the doors and walked out.

Hayes smiled after him. He’d never gotten him to do that before. He turned to look at the massive Sibling and scratched his nose. He saluted it, though he didn’t know why, and then walked toward the door.

… messenger… from afar…

He stopped short and whirled around. “Hello?” he called out. “Who’s there?”

There was no answer. Only the low thrum of the Sibling. He checked behind it but could find no one hiding there. Then he stared at the device and moved closer, holding his hands out as though trying to feel any effects.

Had the Sibling spoken to him? Was it even possible for him to overhear a machine? He’d certainly never experienced anything like it before. Perhaps it was a transmission he’d overheard, somehow… But wasn’t this one a prototype, built only to see how far they could transmit? Or could someone else have somehow been sending messages through it?

He shook himself. It was a silly idea. It was much more likely there was someone on the floor above or below and Hayes had just happened to get close to them.

Hayes left and caught up to Brightly, who was standing with his hands behind his back at the end of the hall. He was wearing his traveling coat and his hat now, and he’d shed the smile for a dour glare. Yet no matter how angry he was, the second Hayes came near he checked his pocket watch and marked the time. Hayes would forever be a tool to Brightly, he knew, one that came with liabilities that required careful use. Every second Brightly allowed was one with a purpose, however hidden.

“I hope this has not been a waste of my very valuable time,” he said. “Has it, Hayes? Please tell me you’ve learned something useful?”

Hayes was silent. He gave Brightly a piercing look, then nodded slightly.

“I hope so,” said Brightly. “I honestly do. Some days I’m not sure why I’ve kept you on. We ask for you to do one thing, one little task, and we set the bar so low for you, and still somehow you find the need to buck us. But pay attention, now, because I’m going to keep this simple-if you don’t do these little, tiny, easy tasks we’ve set for you, you’ll be out. Out right away. No exceptions.”

“I just want to do my job. To get after Tazz.”

“No, Mr. Hayes,” said Brightly. “You are a man of addictions. And some of your addictions go far beyond any chemical or bottle. You want to chase Tazz the same way a drunkard needs his tankard. It’s simply another exciting little diversion for you, isn’t it?”

When Hayes did not answer, Brightly nodded. “Then it’s as I thought. Let’s hope this is one compulsion you can overcome, for your sake. Good day,” he said, and pushed through the doors and walked out to the street.

On her fifth week on the job, Samantha began to feel disappointment creeping in on her. She still organized rigorously and kept both herself and Hayes to the plans laid out for them, but the days went by more slowly. Looking back on the past weeks, it was difficult to say what they had accomplished. Her work had become condensed to mere paperwork and research, just facts and figures to feed Hayes before each interview. Conversations about violence and horrible suspicions drifted by, and she wrote them down without any expectation of redress. It became difficult to remember that often there were fortunes at stake when the day seemed to repeat itself again and again, with no hint of progress gained.

Hayes seemed to feel similarly. Each day he swept into the room, his eyes alight with a mad, dancing spark as he did his little performance, and then when he was done he shambled out, little and tired again. They did not speak much beyond work. They nodded hello and went about their business and then parted. Each time she reflected that she really knew very little about the man she was paid to assist.

So it came as a surprise one day when, as they packed up and prepared to leave, Hayes turned to her and said, “Well, Sam, I believe that went rather well, didn’t it?”

“I would say so, yes,” she said.

“Care for some dinner?”

She thought about it, wondering if it was some ploy. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure,” he said. “Bit of food would do us both good.”

They ate boiled beef and cabbage at a bar across the street, a dim and murky place built of weeping wood. They sat at a scarred table in the corner, and she had a glass of stale tea and he a porter, telling her offhandedly that she was not to tell anyone about that as he was supposed to be bone-dry, you know, but every once in a while a man has to put a toe out of line. They exchanged curt comments about the food or about work, and Hayes drank beer until his lips were a thin black-brown and his cheeks gained color. Eventually he asked her where she was staying, and when she said Newton he cried, “My God. You’re practically living among royalty. How did you land that?”