Timothy Zahn - Cascade Point

"Have you tried for any government jobs? They're mostly low-skill, low-pay types, but at least you'd be working for your income."

"I'd rather sweep floors for private industry, if it comes to that. Look, Will, if we're stuck, we're stuck. Let's open up the job, and I'll just take my chances with the lottery."

"Well..." Whitney seemed acutely embarrassed. "It doesn't look like we can afford to do that. The law limits how much internal shifting we can do when a position is vacated, and it turns out that the lowest job we'd be able to offer on the lottery would be that of level-two programmer. With the thirty-three-kay salary that goes with that we'd get hundreds of applicants, and we can't possibly afford to pay off even a fraction of them. We're just going to have to make do with one less programmer for a while."

Charley felt his jaw sag. "But if you don't even open the job up I won't have any chance of getting it back."

"I'm sorry, but we've got no choice. We'd give practically anything to have you back—you know that. But we can't go bankrupt in the process."

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand."

"Again, I'm sorry. If you can come up with any new ideas, I'm game to try them." Whitney glanced away as someone apparently came into his office. "I've got to go. Keep in touch, okay?"

"Sure. Good-bye."

For a minute after the connection was broken Charley remained where he was, staring through the blank screen. The hope of eventually getting his job back was all that had kept him going these past few weeks. He couldn't—wouldn't— give that up. So the director of the National Employment Office wasn't answering calls and letters, eh? Well, there was always the direct approach. Flipping on his computer tie-in, Charley called up the Baltimore-Washington train schedule.

—

"Mr. Addison, there really isn't any point in waiting—really," the secretary said, her manner one of polite irritation. "Director Pines never sees anyone without an appointment."

"I understand," Charley told her from his seat by the reception room door. "If you don't mind, I'll wait a bit longer. In case he changes his mind."

She sighed and returned to her typing as Charley buried his nose in his magazine again. It was clear that Pines's refusal to see him wasn't merely general policy; the secretary had been in and out of the inner office twice since Charley's arrival, and he had no doubt that the director knew of his presence and business. Equally clear was the fact that Pines wouldn't be coming out through the reception room as long as Charley was waiting to buttonhole him. But if Charley had judged things correctly the director had a private door into his office—a door just within view from Charley's carefully chosen seat. Trying to avoid him was the directors prerogative, of course—but it was almost noon, and Charley doubted Pines had his lunch in there with him. Pretending to read his magazine, Charley gave the private door his undivided attention.

And minutes later his diligence was rewarded as the door opened and a dignified-looking older man slipped out. Dropping his magazine, Charley charged out after him, catching up before the other had gone ten steps. "Dr. Pines? My name's Charles Addison."

Pines glanced at Charley with a look of extreme annoyance and increased his pace. Charley stayed with him. "Dr. Pines, this isn't a problem that'll just go away if you ignore it long enough. I've been cheated out of my job by your system, and I'm not going to give up until I've got it back. Now, are you going to discuss it with me, or am I going to have to follow you all over town?"

With the explosive sigh of barely restrained exasperation Pines stopped abruptly and faced Charley. "Mr. Addison, your complaint was brought to my attention weeks ago," he said, his words precise and clipped. "As I explained to your employer then, the law is very clear on the subject of error correction: twenty- four hours—no more—is the time limit. Period; end file; good day."

He started walking again. Charley hurried to catch up. "I don't think that's at all fair, Doctor," he said, "and for a system that bills itself as the first truly fair employment scheme in modern history something like this would be an ugly blot, wouldn't it? How would you feel if the news media got the story?"

Pines didn't even break stride. "To quote the Duke of Wellington, publish and be damned." So Pines was the type to call bluffs... and Charley had already tried vainly to interest the media in his situation. "Hell," Charley exploded, his self-control finally breaking. "Look, I've worked and sweated for thirty-five years at a job and company I've really grown to like. I'm a good citizen, I pay my taxes on time, and I've had jury duty twice. Why the hell would it be such blasphemy to bend the rule just once?"

Pines stopped again. "Because it wouldn't be just once," he snapped. "If I let you bypass the rules there would be hundreds of people who'd demand the same privilege, whether their claims were justified or not. A flood like that would cost tremendous time and money, and ultimately hurt both the lottery system and the taxpayers and businesses that support it. It's not worth that kind of risk for any job, Mr. Addison—not yours, mine, or anyone else's. If you've been dealt with unfairly, I'm sorry—but I am not going to change anything. Understand? Good day."

He strode off down the hall with a snort. Charley watched him go, his mind numb with defeat. He'd gone to the very top... and come away with absolutely nothing.

The train ride back to Baltimore seemed very long.

—

He stayed in his condo the next three days, not even coming out to register with the lottery. A great deal of his time was spent staring out the window in deep thought: thought about his past and future, and the things various people had said lately about both.

Perhaps he should just give up and find a permanent job somewhere, even if it weren't in programming. Whitney's comment about the low demand for government jobs kept coming back to him, but the thought left him cold. Even if he couldn't work at KDS, he at least wanted a job in computers somewhere. But after his experience at Dundalk Electronics he wondered if any programming firm would hire him, or whether they all preferred fresh new college graduates. And to be honest, he was afraid to find out. In some ways it was infinitely safer to stay on the lottery's pseudo-welfare.

Still, something inside him refused to give up... and when he woke on the fourth day he had the first feint glimmerings of an idea. Incomplete and even slightly crazy, it was nevertheless all he had left. Getting dressed, he took the next commuter into Baltimore.

It took him ten minutes at a terminal to locate and sign up for all the jobs he could in the proper class. All of them fizzled out by day's end; but the turnover was high, and there was a new crop of them waiting for him the next morning... and the next. Doggedly, he kept at it.

And within a week he was in. Job description: maintenance engineer, custodial; evening/weekend shift. Employer: U.S. government. Job location: National Employment Office Administration Building, Washington, D.C. Salary: not worth mentioning.

—

The National Employment Office had never had a new building designed for it, but had from its beginnings been housed in a century-old structure whose masonry and vaulted ceilings clashed curiously with the ultramodern computer equipment that had been more recently installed. Charley had noticed the contrast on his last visit here—but he hadn't expected the janitorial equipment to match the buildings age. The sweepers, waxers, and one genuine monstrosity of a floor buffer were older than they had any right to be. Pushing them around every night was harder work than he would have guessed, and he quickly learned why these jobs changed hands so often.