Peggy tapped lightly on the door. No response. She tapped again, a little harder. Still no response. She looked down at her watch. She was definitely right on time for the meeting (thank you so much, inter-office mailing system, good luck getting her work schedule back on track after having to suddenly drop everything for an "urgent" meeting she'd only heard about two hours ago.) She was definitely at the right office. So why wasn't anyone answering? She knocked on the door one more time. Maybe "definitely" wasn't the right word. She looked down at the print-out of the email again. No, "definitely" definitely fit the bill. Right place, right time. Was this just some sort of joke?
A voice spoke from behind the door. "Come in, Ms Mitchell." She looked down at her watch. Exactly one minute after the meeting was supposed to start. Ah. So it was going to be one of those kinds of meetings. She opened the door and walked inside.
Peggy instantly disliked both of the men waiting for her, simply on an instinctive, hindbrain level. The man sitting at the desk wore an expensive gray suit that looked as though it had never been touched by a human being, and that included the person wearing it. He looked at her through wire-frame spectacles, his black hair perfectly slicked back so that his widow's peak was prominent, and everything about him gave off the impression of a man that actually considered Human Resources to be more important than humans. Compared to that, the bulky, unpleasantly-leering security guard standing behind him made Peggy feel downright comfortable. At least he just seemed like an ugly, clumsy, sexist pig.
The man sitting at the desk looked down at a sheet of paper in front of him, then back up at Peggy. She got the impression he'd have preferred dealing with the sheet of paper. "Ms Margaret Mitchell?" he asked in a formal tone.
"Peggy," she said, trying not to sound curt. "Margaret Mitchell wrote 'Gone With the Wind'."
He smiled thinly, more to indicate that he understood a joke had been told than to express any kind of amusement. "Indeed. I'm Mister Pfizer, from the Human Resources department. This is Rankin. He's just here to monitor the discussion and act as a witness."
Peggy didn't like the sound of that. Her brain ruffled briefly through her memories of recent events, trying to think of anything she might have done that would cause her to need to meet with Human Resources, and with witnesses present no less. She knew there'd been no problems in her work lately; she didn't even surf the Net while on the clock (unlike some people she could speak of, cough Janice Sikorsky cough.)
Pfizer must have seen the expression on her face, because he immediately said, in what he probably meant to be soothing tones, "Don't worry, Ms Mitchell. This meeting is probably just a formality. Some of our long-range planning documentation has, unfortunately, been leaked by disgruntled staffers to the company as a whole, and we're simply attempting to trace the path of the leaks in order to determine who was responsible. Have you seen a memo entitled, 'Re: H.R. 362: Corporate Loyalty Program'?"
Peggy froze. After a second, she put her finger to her chin, hoping she could pass her hesitation off as 'trying to remember'. What should she say here? 'No'? 'Yes'? The more accurate, 'I saw it, but I thought someone was kidding--you're not trying to tell me that was serious, are you?' After a long moment, she said, "Sorry, but I do see a lot of memos floating around the office...I'm afraid that one doesn't ring a bell, but it's possible I saw it and forgot." There. That should cover her ass nicely. And if he noticed the forced lightness of her tone, well...she was just nervous because it was such an important meeting. That's all.
"I see," Pfizer said. He reached into the desk drawer, and took something out. It looked sort of silly for a half-second, before she recognized it. It was like the sort of prop they used in an old Flash Gordon serial; a sort of sleek black gun-like device, with a complex nozzle where the barrel would be that ended in a little light bulb. "Do you recognize this?"
Peggy stood up quickly. "You keep that goddamned thing away from me!" she shouted, suddenly terrified. Oh, God, oh, fuck, oh shit, it really was serious. That memo was real. She took a step to the left, absolutely certain she didn't want to be where that thing was pointing, and started backing up towards the door.
"Oh, dear," Pfizer said. He didn't sound particularly surprised. "That was, unfortunately, the wrong response, Ms Mitchell. I'm afraid it casts some rather serious doubts on your answer to my first question. If you recognize the Neural Adjuster, then you've almost certainly read the memo. Or, at the very least, had someone summarize it for you. And I need to know who."
