Billy found himself back on the street without a clear idea how he'd gotten there. Ever the hard-headed realist, he was unaccustomed to the feeling that he was living a dream-turned-nightmare.
On the one hand, he really ought to get to work--even he, a civilian until twenty minutes ago, had heard rumours that General Systems was close to matching Mercanix's propsphere, perhaps even surpassing it. On the other, he really needed a chance to decompress...not to mention a chance to figure out just how the hell he was going to get himself out of this. Preferably alive.
He made his way home by hovercab--what the hell, he could afford it, now--and spent most of his evening staring blankly at his media center. Deep in the sweatshops, his mental minions were formulating a plan.
Billy harboured no illusions. He was sure all his communications were being monitored, and it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that Gatlin's mercanix had installed a mini-propsphere somewhere nearby, just to keep him honest. He deliberately thought in vague, non-threatening terms, and every so often he forced himself to repeat "Mercanix makes me Feel Whole", like a mantra.
Around midnight, he fell into a shallow sleep, populated by capering Gatlin-demons. In one dream he found himself tied up, looking into the eye of a giant Projector. A wave of pain shot out of its bore and Billy screamed himself awake. Both his legs had cramped up simultaneously and he thrashed and convulsed until he had freed himself of his covers. Massaging furiously, he hobbled out of bed and got dressed. His ticker said it was 4:27.
Might as well get started.
"Okay, this is how I'm going to play it," said Billy to Gatlin, three hours later. He'd made his way back to Mercanix headquarters by six, spent half an hour customizing his office and a further fifteen minutes luxuriating in it, and buzzed Gatlin as soon as MercNet let him know the president had arrived. Gatlin had hurried down three floors to Billy's abode, prompting more than a few raised eyebrows amongst his coterie of hangers-on, Billy was sure. Now here he was, looking expectant.
"I need a team of rewriters. My Net presence needs to be eradicated, every last trace of it. I need a false history to be implanted. It's got to be fast and it's got to be perfect. I need to be made so attractive to G.S. that they'll hire me on the spot."
Gatlin looked incredulous. "What, we're not paying you enough? What are you planning?"
"I can't really say," said Billy. "I've just had one pretty sleepless night to work this out. But getting on staff is probably the only way I can get in to General Systems at all. And I can't use a fake Mercanix history--they'd be rightly suspicious of any "disgruntled employee" flimflammery. So it's got to be some other company. Ramp up my qualifications, make me irresistible."
Gatlin nodded. "We can do that. It can be ready by the end of the day."
"Good," said Billy. "Incidentally," he continued, "have you thought about smuggling a Mercanix propsphere in to G.S. space? That'd win you the war without a shot being fired."
The president sighed. "Yes, we've been over that scenario many times. Unfortunately, there are a number of problems with it. For one thing, our 'sphere uses an immense amount of power. It's huge. There's just no viable way to get it from here to there. For another, there's always the chance G.S. could overpower us and steal our technology. And even if we succeeded, we'd only turn their head office. Their subsidiaries--and there are many--would immediately split off and regroup."
"Okay," said Billy. "Set me up."
Billy had his Mercanix ware removed and a full set of General Systems mods installed. The tech who completed this operation scowled at him. "Well, this is a first," she said.
Billy nodded. "All for a good cause."
The tech regarded him with ill-concealed distaste. "This is crapware," she intoned with finality. "And they actually demanded I put a neut in, as well!"
"A newt?" said Billy with some alarm.
"Yeah, it neutralizes the pain you should be feeling from having this G.S. shit in your body."
Thank God for small mercies, Billy thought. Check that--thank Mercanix. They're thinking of me.
"Thank you," he said.
"Don't mention it."
-----------------------------------
Sheila Stratton, the head of Human Resources at General Systems, looked impressed. "William Martin", she said, "your record speaks for itself. And it says I should hire you. But I need to ask, what brings you here?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well, you've got ten years put in at Causland's, I see. Great store. I shop there myself. The marketing campaigns you've run are phenomenal. 'Causland's Costs Less'," she quoted. "Was that oinking piggy bank really your idea?"
"Well, not entirely," said Billy. He'd been warned to avoid lying as much as possible, on the theory that a lie might be detected and ruin his plans before he could set them in motion. "Any good marketing campaign is teamwork."
Sheila beamed at him. "Well put. But why would you leave such a lucrative position to come here? I'm sure you must know we're only offering an RR of 8 to start. What were you making before, if I may ask?"
Would 13+ throw you? "Actually, not as much as you'd think. My last position paid 6. I'm looking for new horizons, new challenges." And boy, have I found them.
"That's criminal!" said Sheila. "I'd like to give you a little signing bonus, but I'll have to run that by the big boys. We've had to shuffle a few folks around, but once I briefed them on your qualifications, everybody told me I'd be nuts to let you go. Congratulations. You're our new Director of Marketing."
Is this where she tells me my first project is to go and kill J. Paul Gatlin? thought Billy.
"Thank you, ma'am. If I may ask, what have you got on the go right now in terms of marketing?"
Sheila stood and paced. "You've arrived none too soon," she mused. "In three weeks, Gerry Knowles will unveil our new Morale system. Its purpose is to counteract Mercanix' proprietary sphere. You'll be working in conjunction with Gerry and his team to fine-tune the first beams. He'll bring you up to date. Can you start tomorrow? We'll pay all reparations to Causland's, of course."
Shit, thought Billy. And what'll Causland's say when they get all this money in return for the spiriting away of their entirely fictitious V.P.: Marketing, William Martin?
"No reparations necessary", said Billy smoothly. "I'm actually on a two month sabbatical right now. My replacement...well, she's more than capable."
"Hmm," said Sheila, smiling. "Maybe we should hire her too, then. Welcome to General Systems, Mr. Martin."
"Thank you, ma'am. It's a privilege," said Billy.
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