Part 23 (2/2)

IS NO LONGER EMPLOYED BY KDS.

Charley stared at the screen in disbelief for several seconds, then tried again.

The same message came back. Turning the terminal off and on, he tried in succession for his last work file, the weekly cafeteria menu, and the interoffice memo file. Nothing worked. Frowning, he flipped the machine off again and headed for his boss's office.

Will Whitney, president of KDS, was on the phone when Charley walked in, a respectable frown creasing his own forehead. ”Look, this may be a minor aberration to you, but it's at the catastrophe level for us,” Whitney was saying as he waved Charley to a chair. ”Isn't there something...? I know, I know, but... Yeah, well, thanks.”

Dropping the phone into its cradle, Whitney looked over at Charley. ”I know why you're here, Charley. I just found out about it myself thirty minutes ago-and it doesn't look like there's anything I can do.”

”Why not? Isn't this just some sort of computer glitch?”

”Of course it is-”

”Well, then, get it fixed and let me get back to work.”

”-but the problem is that the report's already been transmitted to the National Employment Office. As far as they're concerned you've been legitimately fired.”

Charley thought about that. ”That's crazy, but even so I don't see the problem.

Just hire me back.”

Whitney gave him an odd look. ”You haven't paid much attention to the country's employment policies lately, have you?”

”Well...” Charley wasn't all that ignorant. ”I know how the unemployment systems been turned over to the private sector and all. But there's supposed to be a grace period after someone's fired before that goes into effect-something like ten days.”

”It used to be ten days,” Whitney nodded heavily. ”But as the system's been improved and errors like this have become less and less frequent the grace period's been shortened-it's down to twenty-four hours now. Apparently this order went through over the weekend and... well, it's too late to rescind it.”

A cold feeling was working its way into Charley's stomach. ”Are you telling me I really am fired? You can't let this happen, d.a.m.n it!”

Whitney spread his hands helplessly. ”There's nothing I can do. I've talked to our lawyer and to the Employment Office people here in town-there just aren't any loopholes I can squeeze you through. If I let you on the payroll without going through the job lottery it'd be worth a felony-two fine.”

Charley rubbed his hand across his forehead. ”Yeah, I know. I sure wouldn't want you to wreck KDS over this-you know that. I'm just-it's not something I was expecting.”

”Sure.” Whitney's voice was sympathetic. ”Look, we're not licked yet- maybe someone in Was.h.i.+ngton will listen to me. But... in case I can't get anywhere, maybe you'd better go sign up with the lottery.”Charley made a face. ”I don't want to work anywhere else.”

”You think I want you to?” was the dry response. ”Aside from the fact that you know far too much about our stuff, you're just too good a man to lose. But I have to be honest about your chances here... and you can't live off your savings forever.”

Charley stared at the floor for a moment, then sighed and got to his feet.

”Yeah, you're right. I guess I'd better. I'll check back with you later.”

”Yes, please do.” Whitney came around from behind his desk and gave Charley a warm handshake. ”Good luck.”

The world seemed darker when Charley emerged onto the sidewalk. He paused for a moment, feeling a mild disorientation that seemed part of the numbness in his brain, and then turned east and began walking. He still couldn't believe this was really happening to him, that a lifetime of conscientious work could be threatened by something as meaningless as a burp in a bubble-memory somewhere.

Walking in a private fog, he almost pa.s.sed right by the Baltimore branch of the National Employment Office, a modern building he'd seen often from the commuter but never entered. Steeling himself, he joined the stream of people at one of the revolving doors and made his way inside.

It was unlike anything he'd ever seen, and for a moment he stood rooted in place, taking it all in. The entire first floor seemed devoted to rows and rows of computer terminals. Each machine had a line of people waiting in front of it; around these relatively stable promontories swirled a sea of people traveling to or from other terminals or the huge display boards that lined the walls. In the center of the floor ran a pair of escalators; through their openings he could see that the second floor seemed laid out like the first, and was just as crowded. To his right, on the wall by the entrance, was a building directory, and Charley worked his way across the stream of people until he was close enough to read it. COMPLAINT DEPT. was listed as Room 702. Spotting a bank of elevators, he pushed his way into the crowd. Minutes later, he was on the seventh floor.

Room 702 had nothing of the wide-open s.p.a.ces of the ground floor, consisting instead of eight boxed-off cubicles with strategically placed upright panels directing the flow of traffic. There were about sixty people ahead of him, so Charley chose one of the shorter lines and settled down to wait. Surprisingly enough, the lines moved quickly, and within a half hour of his arrival he was sitting down across from a tired-looking middle-aged man with frown lines stamped across his face. ”Good day, Mr. Ryon-” Charley began, glancing at the desk nameplate.

”Name, number, and previous job category?” the other snapped, fingers resting on his terminal keyboard.

Charley gave them. ”What happened, you see, was that I was fired accidentally-”

”Just a minute,” Ryon interrupted peevishly. ”Your file's not on yet.”

Charley subsided. He should have expected a delay; after being at the same job for so long, his records were probably on one of the ”low-use” tapes in Was.h.i.+ngton's master files, and an operator would have to be sent to get it. The way things were going, of course, his file would probably be moved to a more accessible tape on the next adjustment run.

”Says here you were terminated as of Friday, 8 May 2009, from Key Data Services, Baltimore,” Ryon said at last. ”That true?”

”Yes, but it was an accident-computer malfunction or human error or something.”

”Should've corrected it last Sat.u.r.day. Way too late now. Next!”

”Hold on! That's not fair-no one goes into work on weekends. We should be allowed one business day.”

Ryon's frown lines deepened a bit. ”The book says 'twenty-four hours.' If your boss is too lazy to pull a ten-minute computer overview on weekends, it's not our fault. Next!”

Charley didn't budge. ”I want to see your superior.”

”Forget it. I said you haven't got a case.” His finger hovered over a b.u.t.ton.

”You gonna leave quietly or do we do this the hard way?”

Swallowing, Charley took the easy way.

He got off the elevator on the second floor which, as he'd surmised, was laid out like the first. For a long moment he hesitated, distaste and apprehension holding him back. But Whitney had been right; it only made sense to sign up.

Picking a line at random, Charley took his place at the end.

Again, the line moved quickly. Watching the men and women at the keyboard, Charley could tell they were all familiar with this routine. Not only were they fast, but they all invariably skipped past the pages of instructions. Fidgeting uncomfortably, Charley tried to remember everything he'd ever read about the lottery.

Finally, it was his turn. Stepping up to the console, he pushed the ”start”

b.u.t.ton.

TYPE YOUR NAME, NUMBER, AND PREVIOUS JOB CATEGORY, the machine instructed him.

Charley complied, CATEGORY/REGION? it asked.

COMPUTER PROGRAMMER/BALTIMORE, Charley typed carefully.

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