Communications Breakdown, page 20
He stepped into the office, to find the hallways filled with coworkers. He frowned. This only ever happened when—
“Nilsen! Nilsen!”
He turned and saw Greg, one of the other clerks.
“About time, where have you been?” she said. “Retirement party, we’re both in.”
“Who’s retiring?”
“Athar. From Accounts.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Dunno. Must be due. Or maybe he screwed up.”
As they watched, a cheer broke out, as an elderly man emerged from a cubicle, walking down the hallways toward the exit, holding a cardboard box.
Every so often he stopped to shake a hand, and other than a slight falter in his step near the exit, he never wavered. He stopped, turned around to look at everyone again. And then he passed out through the doors and out of sight,
Next to him, Hans heard Greg sigh. “Poor bastard. At least he didn’t have to be dragged out kicking and screaming by security like Powell. He got scratch marks on the walls, you know. Rough scene.”
Hans murmured something he hoped sounded like words.
Later at his desk, he couldn’t help thinking that the cardboard box had seemed awfully small for forty years.
He frowned down at the pages of documentation. Best worry about work instead.
It was late afternoon when the memo popped up and ruined his life.
It was from HR, succinct and chilling.
“Dear Employee, as it has been several days of unexcused absence, the multiplier has been applied. You have been scheduled for an exit interview pending retirement. Your wages for the period have been adjusted. Regards.”
He felt his throat constrict, a sudden throbbing at his temples. He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, the words were still there.
“No, no, NO!” he heard a voice say, before realizing it was his. He couldn’t afford to lose his job, never mind the fine! He was too young! He had payments to make. It had been a scheduled medical absence. Hell, he even had the approvals on his workstation. How did they not know this? It had to be a mistake!
He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, and with a tremor in his hand he couldn’t quite still, wrote a reply, pointing out that his absence had indeed been excused, and in fact necessary, attaching the permission slip as well. Hopefully that would save some time.
Then the waiting began. After what felt like hours but the clock said was a few minutes, another message popped up. He lunged forward, stabbing at the Open button.
Instead of being a reply from HR, it was a message letting him know he had a visitor. He frowned. He’d never had a visitor before.
Before he had time to ruminate much more, security was there to escort him to the reception room where his visitor was waiting.
As he entered, the occupant rose to his feet.
“Good evening, sir!” said Mr. Sharma.
“You? How—”
“Find you? Company records, sir. Many things are in company records. Now, is there any feedback you wish to share with us, to help us improve service in the future before we proceed?”
Hans blinked, and then it hit him. The HR wrangle! This had to be something to do with the payment.
“Actually, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Indeed, sir,” said Mr. Sharma. For the first time since Hans had met him, he wasn’t smiling. “Two separate attempts to retrieve your payment were made, first at noon and then at 1:17 p.m.”
“I can explain—”
“Both were rejected. If you do not wish to share feedback at this time, then I am ready when you are, sir.”
“For what?”
“For return of the unit, sir. The heart.”
“Excuse me?”
“You have terminated your contract with us, yes?”
“Look, there’s been a mix-up. Just an error by my employer; it’ll all be sorted out in a few hours, I promise.”
“Of course, sir.”
“It was just a mistake! You’ve seen my credit, I’ve never missed a payment before, you know this.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Isn’t there something we can do?”
“Certainly, sir. That’s why I am here. To collect the heart unit.”
“No, no. I mean, maybe, wait, can we work out a new payment plan or something?”
Mr. Sharma pursed his lips. “You already had a payment plan, sir. The payment was not made.”
“Yes, but that was by accident!” His throat felt constricted, like there was some sort of blockage between the words and freedom. Mr. Sharma was talking again.
“Auricle-Delphi Health Insurance Services Limited understands that your health is our primary concern. However, we at Auricle-Delphi also expect our customers to be equal partners in management of their health. I take it sir has obviously had a new non-Auricle-Delphi heart unit installed?”
“Certainly not!”
“Then how will you manage when I take the unit with me, sir?”
“You won’t be taking any unit with you! What’s wrong with you? How the hell do you plan to take it with you? Going to cut me open here?”
“Certainly not, sir. The termination clause in the contract makes provision for this. Customer will bear the removal costs at an insurance-approved surgical facility, and Auricle-Delphi Health Insurance Services Limited is not liable for any expenses resulting from forfeiture or termination of—”
“Yes, well, like I said, I don’t want to terminate the contract.”
“As mentioned, sir, Auricle-Delphi expects all customers to be equal partners in managing their chronic health conditions.”
“What are you even talking about? I’m in perfect health!”
“Really, sir? Company records indicate you missed several weeks of work recently.”
“To get this heart! You were there! I wouldn’t even have been there if it wasn’t for you people!”
“That is not an accurate representation, sir. Auricle-Delphi Health Services Limited is not party to the decision-making process; we merely provide the service. Periodic replacement of internal organ units with synthetic models better suited to manage the daily wear and tear of environmental conditions in accordance with health and safety requirements is an insurance company requirement. You will need to take it up with them.”
“Look, I don’t have any chronic health conditions!”
“I’m afraid you are wrong, sir. Life is a chronic condition.”
There was a heavy silence. Hans was the first to break it.
“OK, but, I don’t have another heart. Truth be told I don’t even think I could afford one. So what do we do now?”
“Standard procedure would be to apply again for a new policy, which can be done within thirty business days of a termination clause being invoked.”
“So I need to wait a month and get another?”
“Yes, sir. At which point your application will be processed within five business days. You’ll need a Form G12.”
“OK great, where do I get one?”
“I can issue you one, sir. That is, as soon as all dues are cleared in full, which means all pending payments and return of all Auricle-Delphi property. Such as the heart unit.”
“Wait—you’re saying in order to keep this heart unit I need to first return it?”
“Only for thirty-five business days, sir.”
“Do you hear yourself? What the hell am I supposed to do for thirty-five days? Just live without a heart?”
“I am not authorized to answer that question, sir. I can only offer advice as pertains to Auricle-Delphi policies.”
There was a long silence, broken by the sound of a buzzer. Visiting time was over.
“I have to go,” said Hans helplessly.
“We can discuss the arrangements later, sir.”
“There’s nothing to discuss—I’ll figure this out, OK? Just give me till evening!”
With that, he hurried out, a determined set to his jaw. Come what may, he’d find a way to get through to those jokers in HR and sort this out, and maybe even file a complaint against someone if he—OK, that was going too far. But he’d get them to fix it. And then he’d make that payment, and he’d be rid of that smiling devil once and for all.
But as he walked back to his workstation, he could feel a sort of weight, a hard knot of worry beginning to settle in his chest.
Somehow, he had a feeling he hadn’t quite seen the last of Mr. Sharma.
II. LIBERTY
It was dark out by the time Hans left the office, and his mood was no better than his surroundings. He’d eventually managed to get HR to fix the error, after a whole day of sending his paperwork from one person to another, but finally, the exit interview had been canceled, his wages readjusted, and they’d even rescinded the multiplier on his fine. Then, of course, he’d had to stay back to finish his work for the day, while unsuccessfully attempting to manually transfer money across to Auricle-Delphi whenever he got a moment to breathe.
Lost in his thoughts as he waited in the pickup area, he didn’t realize he was being hailed till he looked up and saw the Sandwich Man, standing not far from him. Somehow he’d got into the premises unscathed. He was so close Hans could read the sandwich board on his front.
Divide and Conquer, it said.
The Sandwich Man saw Hans looking his way, and grinned. “They’re going to get you too!” he shouted.
“Tell me about it,” muttered Hans.
“I just did!” shouted back the man.
Startled, Hans whirled toward him. Could he have heard?
But the Sandwich Man was already leaving, cackling away to himself, so all Hans could see of him was the board on his back.
Unite and Destroy.
A couple hours later, he walked into his flat, the media wall switching itself on at his approach.
“And wasn’t that nice?” shouted an excited-sounding voice. “The Promise Toothpaste Jingle, ‘Make You a Promise,’ by the Promise Toothpaste Company, coming in at number two on our Top Ten Hits of the Week!”
“Volume down!” yelled Hans, walking into the room.
The media wall ignored him, as he knew it would, switching instead to the Public Interest Channel. He’d been out all day, and it was well behind on its daily advertising exposure requirement. He sat down on the couch. This ad was for the upcoming mayoral election. At first, everyone had expected RelianceCorp to win for the third straight time. But seemingly out of nowhere had come Wescott’s Candied Treats, who were giving the venerable old company a run for its money with some rather clever ads, not to mention freebies. This had not pleased RelianceCorp, which had since taken the matter to court, arguing that Wescott’s ability to provide sweets gave them an inherent unfair advantage in the free speech department, since RelianceCorp’s primary service was funerals.
He was halfway through the second ad when he heard a knock on his door. Making his way there, he opened it, and found Mr. Sharma smiling at him.
“What the hell?”
“Company records, sir.”
“This is harassment!”
“I am merely trying to provide service, sir.”
“I’m not giving you my heart.”
“May I point out that it is not sir’s heart? After all, that is the problem here.”
“I’m not giving it to you.”
“I request you to reconsider, please.”
“I’d like you to leave now.”
“Oh, don’t get angry with me, sir. I am only doing my job.”
“I said please leave.”
“I must inform you that your current actions can be viewed as theft, sir.”
“Will you just leave?”
“And corporate espionage as well. Auricle-Delphi also owns the intellectual property rights to the device in your possession.”
“Get out.”
“I must warn you, sir, failure to return Auricle-Delphi property as per the contract could result in legal action being taken.”
“I said get out!”
“As you wish, sir; please take this.”
Hans slammed the door shut in his face, although he could still hear the man knocking, talking, reciting various statutes and subclauses from the contract. Until finally, mercifully, there was a rustling sound, and then the sound of receding footsteps.
Hans leaned back against the doorjamb and used his shirt to wipe his face, which was now all sweaty. He looked down; the man had actually slid a sheet of paper under his door before leaving.
Hans picked it up and flipped it over. Once again, Sharma hadn’t been exaggerating.
A summons to appear in court. It had happened.
Auricle-Delphi was suing him for return of the heart.
The judge’s name was Ruiz, and she wore heavy, red-rimmed glasses and a perpetual frown. Hans knew exactly how she felt.
It had been a tumultuous two weeks. He glanced beside him, where sat his lawyer, a balding, mild-mannered gentleman by the name of Mr. Dobbs, who had won the job by virtue of being the only attorney he could find who’d been both affordable and willing to represent him. Under his diffident manner, he seemed to have a good understanding of the law, however—definitely more than his client did, which was always a good sign when you hired a lawyer.
The private prosecutor rose to her feet. Willis was her name, she had a reputation for almost never failing to secure a positive verdict, and within a couple of minutes Hans could see why. Even to his admittedly biased ears, she’d put together a compelling set of opening remarks, making him seem like a truly terrible person, even earning an approving nod from the judge for managing to work in the tagline of the judicial services company that owned the court. By the time she sat down, Hans felt as unpopular as he’d ever been since high school, even though Dobbs had prepared him for this.
“It’s important to be realistic about our odds here,” he’d told Hans. “We’re in a difficult position. They have a good case, but even if they didn’t, it’s extremely difficult for an individual to defeat a corporation in court, especially in a civil rights case. You’ve already waived your right to hire a jury.” He waited for Hans to finish protesting. “Yes, I know you couldn’t afford it, but the law doesn’t see distinctions. Plus, as you know, you hired me, and they’d have much preferred you hire an attorney from within the company. The good news is I know Ruiz; she’s tough, but fair. We could have done a lot worse. We’ll simply have to play it cool, wait for the right opportunity and act strategically.”
Mr. Dobbs waived his right to an opening statement.
The prosecutor called her first witness. It was Mr. Sharma.
“Name and profession?”
“Ketan Sharma, customer service representative, Auricle-Delphi Health Services Limited.”
Hans watched as Mr. Sharma took the stand. He was an excellent witness, telling his story with practiced ease. Yes, he’d been assigned to Mr. Nilsen. No, he didn’t have any personal animosity against him. Mr. Nilsen had availed himself of the services, taken the product, and then had not made the payment on time, hence breaching the agreement.
“Mr. Sharma, can you tell the court what the purpose of a health services company is?”
“Well, in technical terms, to provide health services.”
“And what health services does Auricle-Delphi provide?”
“Manufacture, installation, and maintenance of heart units for human citizens.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“How many kinds of heart units?”
“Three, but the premium—our mid-range model—is easily our fastest-moving product. We have a cheaper one and a much more exclusive one, but most people prefer the premium or basic models.”
“Why is that?”
“Price. Each of our highest-end models is custom-crafted to the recipient; it would be unaffordable for most people.”
“And what sort of unit is the disputed article?”
“Premium.”
“That you said is the primary breadwinner?”
“Yes.”
“Now, as per the terms of the contract, under what terms could Auricle-Delphi disengage?”
“If two consecutive payments were missed, or if an initial payment defaulted.”
“And which was it?”
“The latter. It was run twice.”
“Without success?”
“Yes.”
“And how many attempts did the contract mandate?”
“One.”
“So Auricle-Delphi actually went above and beyond?”
“Well, yes.”
The prosecutor paused meaningfully.
“Now, if everyone were to simply not pay for a premium unit and not return it, how badly would the company be affected?”
“Well, it accounts for almost 68 percent of revenues; it would be impossible to break even without it.”
“So Auricle-Delphi would have to shut down?”
“Almost certainly.”
Several audible gasps broke out from the jury. The crowd, which had also been hired by Auricle-Delphi, began to murmur angrily.
The prosecutor nodded grimly.
“No further questions.”
The next witness called was Hans himself.
“Name?”
“Hans.”
“Full name.”
“Sorry. Nilsen.”
“Age?”
“Forty-two.”
“Number of jobs?”
“One.”
“Occupation?”
“Clerk, new registrations, Registrar of Companies.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And what do you do there?”
“I’m a decision desk clerk in Approvals.”
“What does that mean?”
“I enter documentation provided by companies looking to register as it comes in from the Verification Department and, based on whether it tallies, I record approval or rejection.”
“So you decide which companies get to be born and which don’t?”
“Not just me. Everyone in the department does.”
“Which includes you.”
He nodded.
“Answer the question, please.”
“Yes.”
“You’re a bigot, aren’t you?”
