***
The office excitement belied the fact that floor 98 was part of a professional analytical firm. Analysts gathered in groups around work stations and break rooms. A buzz of electricity filled the normally dull expanse of cubicles. By the time he arrived at work, everyone hunkered in their small piece of office space, clicking on never-ending spreadsheets or searching profile numbers on the cloud.
He walked to his cubicle and smiled when he saw Gabrielle’s desk empty, her terminal off. His cubie mate took off all week for vacation. Gabrielle came up with the name ‘cubie mate,’ not him.
His computer turned on and his Mr. Java coffee machine poured a perfect macchiato. The fragrance flowed over surrounding co-workers.
“Hey, Tim.”
He cringed at the voice, almost spilling his coffee. Bob and Lob came from around a corner by the snack area. Each of them carried a large white rat. Never did Tim see rats that large.
“Hey guys, what’s new?” he said, false enthusiasm masking annoyance.
“Isn’t it obvious,” Lob said. “We bought Menagerie pets.”
“Rats, too. Fitting,” Tim said.
The two laughed. Bob stroked his rat as it nibbled on his shirt collar. “Yeah, it is fitting. Have you heard about Biggers?”
Peyton Biggers was Sigma Analytical District’s senior analyst, not just in experience, but in age. He was the District, embodying the pure essence of everything analytical.
Several years ago he had crossed the point in life when he no longer cared about cultural expectations. No one knows the particular age, but—according to Peyton—when you pass it you know. Every day was a dress down day for him at the office. Tim could count on one hand the occasions he saw Biggers wear a hat. His old threadbare purple beret probably saw better days long before Tim was born. It was repugnant.
One day, Tim would be the senior analyst. Despite the benefits this esteemed position afforded, he would never be caught without one of his beloved fedoras. That was unprofessional on so many levels.
“I overheard Janet tell Mary she saw Biggers with some kind of lizard,” Bob said. “Can you believe it, Bag-o-Bones Biggers with a lizard? I wonder what he uses it for.”
Tim said, “He should use it to help him overcome his dislike of hats.”
Lob pulled on Bob’s arm and the two laughed and moved on to another group, no doubt to share their lizard tale.
“Morning Tim.” Emma leaned up against the half wall of his cubicle. She was at least two decades older than Tim and heavy set. She often wore extravagant, custom tailored hats that replicated styles worn by the Queen during the Golden Age of the British Monarchy, before it was obliterated by the Great Nuclear Fluke of ‘10. Emma said her hats were a tribute to unassuming times.
Tim often thought of her as an endearing version of his mother.
“Hey Em,” he said, “what’s all the commotion around here?”
She looked around the office. “I think the Menagerie fever has taken hold of the District. Who knows, it may be fun. Look, here comes the instigator of all this. Hello John.”
John stopped at Tim’s cubicle. The parrot bobbed its head as it sidestepped up and down his jacketed shoulder, the material frayed from the large claws raking along the tweed.
“Hello Emma, Timothy,” John said, sweeping his Stetson from his head with a grand arm swing and an exaggerated bow. The parrot fluttered its wings at the sudden upheaval.
Something was different about John, something intangible. It wasn’t his clothing or his hat, but an air he carried. It didn’t feel right.
“How is your bird?” Tim said.
“Archimedes? He’s fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine,” he said. His voice lilted, like he recited the words to a secret song.
That surely wasn’t John. He typically skulked from cubicle to cubicle, sniveling about some grand injustice done to him by the District or by his fellow co-workers. Confidence! That was the air. John exuded confidence. Tim knew it from the last meeting, but couldn’t quite put a finger on it before now.
John never wanted for anything, his father made sure of that. Mr. Barron gave him a furnished apartment on floor 115 of the Palisades, personal transportation, and even the entry level analyst job. All that, but he couldn’t buy John confidence.
Now it seems dad was able to give John confidence, through the Menagerie.
“I must go now. Good day to you both,” John said.
With that he moved on.
The morning dragged on, and people settled down in their cubicles. Familiar workplace noise filled the air, occasional chirping and peeping breaking through the monotonous office thrum.
Evergreen
The LX-500 sparked to life. Holographic images floated for a few seconds and then the transparent two-dimensional window solidified in an illusory manner, with the appearance of texture and depth.
Tim lounged on the good side of his couch, the left side. The right side used to recline, but the button no longer released the internal mechanical catches. So much for buying furniture that’s put together with a screwdriver.
Newer couches reclined and even contained complex technology. They created virtua environments, similar to the Virtual Rendering of his LX projection set. But a couch that expensive would have to wait until the television and the toad were paid off.
Tim lifted himself from the couch and went to the box that remained undisturbed on the table. He pushed it a few inches. No sound. He looked at his watch. Time for the news segment he had been waiting to watch.
Typically, the news was an inconvenience between commercials. But today something interesting, a man-on-the-street segment about the Menagerie. Better yet, the man would be in Evergreen Park, around 20 floors above him. Tim knew it well.
Corinth’s parks operated on the same principle as his LX-500, Vital Viz’s Virtual Rendering technology, but on a grander scale.
Long ago trees, like animals, dwindled and faded away from the earth during the wars. Now, powerful computer algorithms reproduced nature, trees, shrubs and grass. The parks spanned across whole building levels, floors of green stacked between layers of offices, stores, and apartments. The replicas were almost perfect, except everyone knew the parks weren’t real.
He picked up the box with the toad inside and went back to his couch. Maybe the man could shed some light on his new pet.