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Office
Space 2004 short story by Mark Newbold Two
years after Episode IV – A New Hope He had the smallest cubicle in the
stuffiest office of Chancai’s least profitable bank, and to cap it all his
figures for didn’t add up, which meant Dogtooth Fford was not a happy
hoojib. He didn’t really mind that he’d had to
pull a double shift due to massive layoffs; at least he still had a job to
pay for Mountain View, his modest two bedroom apartment on Level 14 that
overlooked the Mutumbarr Lake which glistened just beyond the fringes of the
Chancai Trade Centre. He didn’t own
much in the world, but that pad was his own little castle, and if he had to
work a twenty hour shift to pay for it, then that’s what he would do. And besides, he actually enjoyed his job. He was a number cruncher in a world where
the artificial intelligence of droids and computers had long since rendered
the biological mind obsolete, and he knew he was in a lucky position to still
remain employed. But the Zelon
Intergalactic Trustee Society, or Z.I.T.S as it was commonly known, had
always found a job for him. But now,
ten years after his one little moment of glory that had guaranteed him a job
for life, down here in the smallest broom cupboard of an excuse for an
office, he often wondered if that promise of a job for life was less of a
gift than a life sentence. He ran through his figures again and
scratched his balding head. Why didn’t
they add up? Everything on the balance
sheet was where it was supposed to be, every transaction accounted for and
checked but the final amount was out.
He ran a virus check on the spreadsheet software which instantly came
up clear and leaned back in his rickety old seat, blowing out an exasperated
breath. This had been happening a lot
lately, ever since they’d had a new software package installed to supposedly
integrate their accounting operation with their numerous other
divisions. And again, as the end of
the month approached, certain figures weren’t adding up. And Dogtooth didn’t know why. It was approaching noon and his
allotted lunch break, and so he secured his workstation and hoisted his
carryall onto the desk to arrange his bag for the walk down to the plaza area
of Level 14, Southside and the out-of-the-way little tapcafe he often
frequented, Unit 3226 The Devils Armpit.
Nobody paid him much attention as he left. In fact even the worker droids who usually
bid him a cheery `Good day Mister Fford,’ declined to acknowledge him, but he
was too preoccupied to notice. Outside
the transparisteel confines of the Chancai Trade Centre it was whipping up a
tropical storm, hot and sultry under murky green threatening skies, but
inside the climate controlled protection of the trade centre it was cool and
comfortable. But Dogtooth felt
anything like as composed as he wandered on auto pilot the short distance to
the Devils Armpit, ordered a cup of java juice and seated himself in the
darkest corner, away from the busy eyes of the patrons and the wide eyes of
tourists and sightseers. He took a
gulp of his drink and opened his bag, pulling out a small salad baguette and
began to absentmindedly munch on it as he checked his small, palm-sized mini
comp. It still didn’t make any sense;
there was no reason for the figures not to add up. He took another mouthful and scrolled down
the screen, reading every line, even the disclaimer and manufacturers mark at
the bottom. “FassTech Engineering, a division of
Glann Cipple Holdings Ltd.” He thought nothing of it and continued
with his lunch. Ten years before
“Dogtooth, can I see you in my office please?” Dogtooth scurried to gather his papers
together and scooted around the table, heading for the doorway of the
managers office in a blur of energy and excitement. He had been a filing clerk for almost ten
years, and an accounts executive for another five, but he had never been
noticed for his good work in the way he had in the last few weeks. Not since he had begun to latch onto a
suspicious trail of dealings the Zelon Intergalactic Trustee Society had been
filtering through their systems. It
was something the computers were unable to pick up, but his keen and
suspicious eye had snared it, and he had been following the trail for a
number of days. And so finally, after
years of anonymity, he had become a somebody at Z.I.T.S. He nodded at his manager as he moved
into the room and immediately rolled out three flims across her desk,
disturbing the carefully laid out display she had placed there. She gave him a short and clipped smile as
he apologised for his messiness and waited for him to seat himself.
“As you know, we’re more than impressed with the work you have done so
far in tracking down this anomaly. In
fact, your line manager has recommended you for a promotion.” Dogtooth couldn’t keep the smile from
his lips. Finally, a promotion! His
manager continued.
“But don’t think for a minute that we want you to stop your
investigation into this matter. Far
from it, I’m giving you a team of three staff to delve deeper. We here at the Zelon Intergalactic Trustee
Society take great pride in protecting the interests of our most valued
customers, and great pride in the human touch that
computers simply can’t give.”
She smiled again at the beaming Dogtooth. “You are the shining example of why droids
will never truly replace organics.”
She looked down at the flim-covered table. “What have you brought to show me today?”
“A hardcopy of my latest trail through the Z.I.T.S
system.” He moved around the
desk to the side of his manager. “Here
we have the initial transaction that alerted me. As you know, this is meant to lead through
the systems and various security check points to
here, where the cash is deposited into individual accounts after our trading
on the galactic stock exchange.” He
shifted the flim away to the second one below. “But as you can see, it is being moved
sideways into these four accounts.
Now, I’ve checked the details on these accounts and they are all
apparently legitimate concerns based throughout the sector. Two on A-desando, one on
Amagad and another on Yuma. But
if you look closely at this,” He pushed the top two flims away to reveal the
third and final one. “This is where
the monies should have gone.” He
waited for a reaction from the manager, but none came. “Don’t you see? The money is being filtered away from other
financial institutions like ours. The Bank of Zelon, A-desandian Trust, Star Savings. And all four filter funds eventually lead
to one place. Here.” He jabbed a thumb at the final logo on the
flim, an image of a flaming sword being driven through a shining spiral
galaxy. “A company called Reaviss
Securities.”
“And this is a legitimate company?”
“To all intents and purposes yes, but I don’t believe it is.” His manager nodded slowly and checked
the flims again, pausing to look up at Dogtooth with a worried expression on
her face.
“So what are we to do about it?” Dogtooth straightened his back and
gave her as confident a smile as he could muster.
“Leave it to me Mrs Tarainnew. Me and my team will deal with this.”
“Reaviss Securities, Reaviss Securities.” Dogtooth kept rolling the name over and
over in his head, hoping to wring out a sliver of a clue as to their true
identity. He’d been on the case for
over a month now, and still the trail was cold. Money was still being filtered away into
these four companies, and yet he knew that if he ever froze the accounts,
which of course the bank could, he would never track down the
perpetrators. And it had become
something of a personal demon he wished to exorcise. His staff of three had turned out to
be green and young but quite excellent interns who had uncovered a batch of
other anomalous transactions, some related to this matter and others
not. As was customary at Z.I.T.S they
all worked in different departments and rarely if ever made physical contact,
the offices of the Zelon Intergalactic Trustee Society being spread out over
four levels of the Chancai Trade Centre.
Dogtooth didn’t mind though, he was much happier in his own work
space, tucked away in the far corner of the bustling office. He had been offered an office of his own
with his promotion a month ago, and was sure he could have insisted on one in
the intervening time, but he declined, preferring the noise and action of the
main floor. While he was a solitary
man, he enjoyed the illusion of interaction with the rest of the staff. While he was a perfectly pleasant and
polite man he had few friends but many acquaintances, and no one ever spoke
badly of him, which was just how he liked it. A call buzzed through the comm.
switchboard and he flicked the loudspeaker switch as he busied himself with
another matter. It was one of his
staff, a humorous young blond haired fellow from Corellia called Yavin
Harleck. Harleck rambled through
twenty seconds of small talk before starting the meat and bones of the
conversation.
“We’ve done some deep trace delving into the trail, run the path
through some algorithms. We think we
might have traced the problem back to the source.” Dogtooth sat upright and lifted the
portable comm. unit off the cradle and to his ear.
“Good work Yavin. Where does it
lead?”
“You were right about Reaviss, it is a dummy corporation. Its chairperson is a board member on three
other major corporations throughout the Soluman Delta Gulf. And I think we may have come up with a
name.” Dogtooth took a deep breath.
“Who is it?”
“The name we got was Mister Gold.
Now, I don’t know if that’s an alias or a real name, but it’s
certainly the name this person is trading under in this instance. So if we alert the authorities, we could
push for a prosecution.” Dogtooth paused for a moment, thinking
the situation through at hyperspeed. A
prosecution would be amazing, and great publicity for the Zelon Intergalactic
Trustee Society and for his own career.
But anyone who could infiltrate a security net like Z.I.T.S had, with
such apparent ease, and drag money away from secure accounts the way this
group had needed to be taken seriously.
He twitched his nose in thought.
“No, leave it for now. We can freeze
the accounts anytime we choose. We’re
using a secure system, there’s no way to trace our observations back to
here.” Another pause,
a five second symphony of silence that made Dogtooth’s heart flutter.
“Well, that might not actually be the case. We’ve located unknown markers in the
systems.” There was another pause. “We think they might be watching us.” Dogtooth Fford lowered the comm. unit
and gazed out of the window. Why was
nothing ever easy? Now Dogtooth
watched the last of the 08.00 shift leave and melt into the rush
hour traffic and acknowledged the 17.30 shift as they breezed in for their
days work, but he couldn’t tear himself away from his seat. No matter how he worked the figures they
didn’t match up, and he found himself longing for his young squad of
go-getting assistants from a decade before, but he knew they wouldn’t
come. Yavin Harleck was now a brash
pilot, trailblazing around the galaxy in his souped-up vessel bought with
stolen money, and the other two had left the banking trade and found a quiet
corner of the sector to get married. Which left Dogtooth with less than a trail of dry breadcrumbs in
a windy gale and no idea in which direction to start. He had asked his manager for some
assistance, but as usual had been fobbed off with a smile and a `We’ll get
back to you Dogtooth’, which irked him more than he could say. Didn’t these ungrateful gundarks realise
that if he hadn’t been so observant a decade before they wouldn’t even have a
bank to be employed by? No, he guessed
they didn’t, and that he would continue to be a part of the furniture until
every last piece was auctioned off in the firesale that would surely come if
he didn’t figure this one out. He glanced out at the fading skies of
the Mutumbarr Basin in which Chancai sat and watched the light rain drizzle
down, the storm of the early afternoon now a memory. He knew a few outside people he could take
these figures to, people he had no doubt could figure out what the problems
were, but he knew that the Z.I.T.S management frowned on issues being taken
out of house. Apparently it
perpetuated the myth that they were in some kind of financial strife, which ironically
was exactly what they were in. He blew
out a long breath. If only he could
understand the managerial mentality he would be a happier, wealthier
man. He thought of all the times he
could have easily filtered money away from Z.I.T.S accounts, like Yavin
Harleck had done. He sometimes
wondered who was the more foolish, the young pilot for being constantly on
the run, or himself for never taking the chances
when they screamed out at him. Despite his dour mood he had made some
small in-roads. He had managed to find
an account that didn’t match up to anything on the database that Z.I.T.S kept,
and so he knew he had located at least one anomalous presence on the system,
which was a start. And his idea to
switch his system checks from the main memory into a smaller, ancillary unit
had also managed to speed things up, much to his surprise. And the two hefty pots of shiba’dixx hadn’t
hurt either. It was dark and he was tired, and the
numbers were dancing around his screen like an erotic Twi’lek slave girl so
he decided to power down his station and leave. In this twenty-seven hour office that never
stopped, the lights never dimmed, which Dogtooth hated and combated with an
ornate wall covering which he used to block most of the artificial light from
entering his small cubicle, and as he lifted the last of his belongings he
frowned one last time at the screen and departed. It had been a long day, and now as
evening drifted into night he took a short hover sled taxi back to his
apartment, opting against the usual slow walk through crowds of revellers and
pickpockets. He opened his door,
tossed his bag onto the couch and flicked on the Holovid. The Chancai Express News Network was
running and he listened to it drone in the background as he undid his
tie. As ever his evening meal was
ready and a hot bath was run for him by his loyal droid AJ-685 and he sank
into the tub slowly, trying to soothe away the troubles of the day. He closed his eyes and felt the lure of
sleep ease him into unconsciousness, but still his mind raced. It was all there, right in front of him,
but he couldn’t seem to piece it together.
And then… Reaviss
Securities. Where did that come from? That dummy company had been the link he had
found ten years before, and for some reason this name had just popped into
his head. He opened his eyes and ran
his wet hands through his thinning hair.
Reaviss Securities had turned out to be a false name for a larger
organisation, one which he had ultimately been unable to track down, but had
nevertheless stopped from filtering Z.I.T.S funds away. But what was the name of the company head? He sat up further and called for his droid,
which ambled into the bathroom, ladle and spoon in hand.
“Yes Dogtooth?” Very informal for a droid, but Dogtooth had reprogrammed it so. He preferred the droid to be more of a
friend, as it was the only person he had shared his life with since his
former wife had left him over a decade ago.
“Get me my old datapads from the cupboard will you?” He waited for the droid to return with
the pads, pulled from the back of an overflowing cupboard. He took them with eager damp hands, found
the one he needed and powered it up.
The old FassTech logo appeared, betraying the units age, and he
scrolled down through his old cases histories until he came upon the moment
of his greatest glory. And there it
was.
“Mister Gold.” He said to himself, and he continued to work his way
down the list, raising an eyebrow here, whistling though his teeth there as
AJ stood silently in the corner of the room.
The similarities were startling, and soon he realised that both his bath
water and his evening meal were cold, but only one of them was turning him
pink and wrinkly. He stepped out of
the bath, wrapped a dressing gown around himself and found his way to the
sofa, where a glass of century old Geenau whiskey was waiting for him. The lights were low and as ever outside Chancai
shined dangerously like a Janos Jewel, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
“We might have a problem here sir.”
“What is it?” The information centre of Glann
Cipples Amagad operation was awash with activity as Cipple’s white-haired
lieutenant Melm leaned across the desk and glanced at the screen. He raised an eyebrow at Yullm the
information gatherer as he read the report that was scrolling across,
detailing the mutterings that Dogtooth had been uttering in his
bathroom. Fford had been a thorn in
Glanns side a decade ago, stumbling on and unwittingly thwarting Glanns plans
to siphon funds away from the Zelon Intergalactic Trustee Society and funding
his campaign to run as Governor of Amagad City. Cipple had decided against eliminating the
man, as he had done his deeds without any personal malice or even knowledge
of the ganglord. As Glann had said at
the time, he was simply a man doing his job, just like Cipple. Glann had even considered offering the man
a position in his organisation, but decided against it as other matters took
his attentions. And
so, as with any being that crossed the Amagad ganglord, he kept tabs on
Fford, watching his movements and actions. And for ten years it was a very empty
vigil. Until now. Melm watched the words scroll across
again and leaned heavily on the table.
He could see the events of ten years ago being played out all over
again, and wished for that little man in the Chancai office that it had been
someone else who had found this link. Because Glann Cipple would not believe for a second that this was
a coincidence. In Glann Cipples world, nothing
happened by accident.
“Leave this with me Yullm.”
Melm fixed the information gatherer with a hard stare and tapped the
keyboard, routing the findings up to the ninth floor and Glann Cipples
office. “Keep tabs on Fford’s
activities and report anything unusual.
I need to report this to Mister Cipple.” Yullm nodded eagerly, aware that he
was being entrusted with a top secret task.
Melm caught the look and paused.
“No one else is to know about this. Priority Alpha
One. Am I clear?”
“Absolutely sir.” Melm nodded back and left the room,
crossing the busy hallway and stepping directly into the empty turbolift that
was waiting for him to take him up the three levels to Glann office. Once there he adjusted his jacket and
walked across the corridor to the high double doors and knocked. A moments pause and they parted, allowing
him entry. Glann was seated, a scattering
of flims across his desk and he raised an eyebrow as Melm walked towards him.
“Not your usual entrance.” He
motioned to the secret door Melm invariably used, embossed into the white
walls of the office. Melm shook his
head.
“I haven’t come from Level Four.”
Level Four housed Glanns deadly assassin squad, the Shadow Warriors,
and Melm was the head of their order.
Glann frowned and leaned forward.
“What is it?” Melm moved around the desk and tapped
Glanns keyboard. The words Dogtooth
had spoken ticker-taped across the screen as Glann took a swig of his
whiskey. He remained wordless as Melm
watched, waiting for a reaction.
Finally the ganglord spoke.
“Unfortunate.”
“For Fford?” Glann glanced out of the wide windows
as a black freighter rose into the air, realising that it was Goah Galletti’s
Shadow of the Phoenix blasting off towards another mission. So many irons, so many fires…
“Perhaps.
I have once again secured my position as Governor of Amagad City, an
endeavour that took time and effort. And certain favours.
This Fford character thwarted my previous efforts to obtain elicit election
funds over a decade ago, and now, just after my successful re-election he
appears again.” Glann looked up at
Melm. “Coincidence?”
“You don’t believe in coincidences.
Or fate.” Glann smiled slyly. While he may not have taken stock in either
concept, he certainly was well aware of their effect on the game of life, and
he always factored them into his equations, although public admittance of that
fact never came into play. It was
another part of the façade he chose to employ. Cold. Hard. Ruthless and calculating. And above all, deliberate.
“No I don’t. But this man,” He
motioned to the screen again. “He’s no
threat.” Cipple paused, waiting for
Melm to speak. “Does he seem a threat to
you?” Melm watched the words scroll by on
the screen as his own mind ran over his next few words.
“No. Just a man doing his duty
in a job bereft of inspiration or future.”
“Exactly.”
Glann finished the whiskey and stood to his feet. “Contact Boba Dallagra. Have him meet up with Fford and offer him a
position in our organisation. He’s a
capable worker and diligent, which I always admire. Surely a life with us is preferable to the
life of drudgery he is living right now.” Melm nodded slightly and smiled
inwardly. He agreed with Glann that
the man was of no threat to them, and was satisfied his employer had felt the
same. He turned to leave.
“One moment Melm. Don’t contact Dallagra yet. I have a better idea.” Dogtooth activated his screen and
swigged his coffine, eager to start the day in the same manner he had
finished his night. He had scarcely
slept, the excitement of his discovery fuelling his work. His droid AJ had kept the drinks coming and
a couple of vitamin supplements had activated his tired mind. By the time morning had rolled around he
had barely had three hours sleep but he felt like a man refreshed,
a revitalised soul. The journey to
work had taken no time at all, through the usual throng, and as he entered
work he realised that for the first time in as long as he could remember he
had a smile on his face. The screen activated immediately and
he began work. A pot of coffine sat
beside him and he poured a mug as the case document loaded onto the
screen. He began to reacquaint himself
with the notes he had made the evening before and scrolled down to the bottom
of the page. A small green icon was
flashing for his attention and he absentmindedly clicked on it. A FassTech Engineering logo appeared,
one that opened out into another window on the screen. He clicked over to that and waited, sipping
his drink again. A collection of
apparently gibberish letters, numbers and icons appeared on the screen. He frowned and leaned in. There was something familiar about the
configuration, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The screen was filled with these letters,
but before he could think of what to do another icon flashed for his
attention. Checking around his tiny
corner of the office to see that he wasn’t being watched he activated
it. The words seemingly unravelled
themselves, coalescing into basic and the words contained therein made his
eyes widen and his throat dry.
Dogtooth checked around again to make certain he wasn’t being watched
and read the message in its entirety. It read: - “CheapSkate Skid Pan, Level 15, Southside, Unit 1762. 13.30 hours today. Come alone.” Dogtooth didn’t know what to think. Was it a trap, set by the very people he
was investigating? Or perhaps a loyalty check by the Z.I.T.S management, something they
had done before to great effect, especially in the case of Yavin
Harleck. He had even heard of
employees having spy equipment placed in their homes, and droids who watched
their every move. He couldn’t know
either way for sure, but two things were for certain. He would be at the CheapSkate Skid Pan at
13.30 hours and he would be alone.
Still with one eye on his surroundings he busied himself with his work
and counted the seconds until the meeting. The morning dragged like a dead Tusken in a Banthas saddle
stirrup, but as the moment approached he felt a thrill of exhilaration as he
lifted his lunch bag and left the office for his allotted one hour
break. He had decided to himself that
whatever happened with this meeting that he would meet it head on, ask all
the right questions and see where fate decided to drop him off. If he were lucky he would solve the mystery
of the elusive money trail, and if he were unlucky… Well, he’d deal with that when the time came. The Skid Pan was one level up and across the other side of
the enormous building on the Southside of Chancai. It was markedly seedier, more rough and
ready than the glitzy Northside, and he could feel the glare of a thousand
eyes as he walked through the grimy plaza and into the maze of walkways,
corridors and bridges that wove their way deeper and deeper into the
Southside. He was relieved that he had
a map and knew how to use it, and spared a thought for the many off-worlders
who were not so lucky. After five
minutes he found the Skid Pan and entered, the darkness of the entryway enveloping
him like heavy sack cloth. The Skid
Pan was among the noisiest and fun places to visit on Zelon and was an
anti-gravity discotheque pumping out 130 decibels of galactic hits every
minute of every day. Enclosed in a
soundproof room, the Skid Pan housed a cylindrical tube rising high into the
air where dancers and revellers grooved to the latest tunes and popular
classics. Sometimes live acts were
invited to play the Pan - Figrin D’aan and the Modal Nodes were occasional
guests as were the Max Rebo Band. Dogtooth ordered a shot of Duarga,
something he never usually did during office hours, and seated himself at an
empty table in the far corner of the huge cylindrical room, watching the
dancers do their zero-G dance and noting the vibration of his glass as the
music pummelled them in the soundproofed tube. He checked his chrono – 13.28. Dogtooth wondered for a second if he had
made the right decision when he heard a voice behind him. “Don’t turn
around.” Fford’s natural instinct was to do just that, but he
resisted the reflexive action and stared directly forward. He knew that behind him was a bamboo
screen, thin enough for his contact to see him, and he gulped slowly. “Why have you
brought me here?” He’d said it even
before he’d had time to think it, and he shocked himself with his
courage. The unseen voice paused a
second before answering. “Because my
employer is impressed with your skills.
He has a proposition.” Dogtooth smiled, but a smile uniquely without humour. “A
proposition? Propositions are rarely
offered in meetings like this, only ultimatums.” Fford cleared his throat. “Are you making an ultimatum?” The voice paused again, as if thinking through the
question to its logical conclusion. “Yes I am. We sent you the message this morning via
your computer so you knew beyond doubt that it was us that wished to see
you. Only we have the capability to
write into your systems that easily.
And only you have the skill to find these messages.” “So who do you
work for?” Dogtooth felt a surge of
confidence rush up to him. It was
clear that these people were serious about wanting his skills; otherwise they
would have surely eliminated him.
Goodness knows they had the skill and the opportunity to do so. The voice paused again before continuing. “A decade ago you
stumbled across a trail left behind by my employer, a businessman by the name
of Mister Gold. Once again you have
crossed paths. Only this time, instead
of being angry Mister Gold is interested in your unique skills.” Dogtooth took time to think through his reply, quickly
sipping on a mouthful of Duarga. “And what if I
choose to say no to this ultimatum? What
then?” He already knew the answer to
that. In a machine as powerful as
commerce, he was but the smallest cog. “Then we have both
a problem.” Dogtooth understood that only too well. “What should I
do?” “We’ll meet again
tomorrow at the Yapya Restaurant, Level 15.
I will contact you with further details and explain in full
then.” The voice stood and dusted
itself down. “Welcome aboard Mister
Fford.” Dogtooth involuntarily turned towards the screen and could
see the shadow of the voice walk away from its table. “Thank you.” He turned back to his drink in a daze and
finished it in a gulp. Too much was
racing through his head, and as he checked his chrono and realised that he
only had fifteen minutes of his break left he grabbed a quick baguette from a
vendor outside the Skid Pan and raced back to Z.I.T.S. He returned to his seat and activated the screen
again. Conflicted, he felt
conflicted. What should
I do, he thought to himself in a panicked inner voice. Z.I.T.S has shown me loyalty over the
years, kept me on when a droid could do my job. And I’m only here because I stumbled across
this Mister Gold’s business. But maybe I should be more like Yavin Harleck was, take a
chance and break away. I could die in
this cubicle and no one would notice.
No one would mourn me. Perhaps
this Gold character could be my way to a new life? He couldn’t think straight, and after a scant few minutes
he reported to his line manager that he was feeling unwell and would be
heading home. The manager smiled,
wished him a swift recovery and turned back to her business as Dogtooth went
quickly back to his cubicle and quickly gathered his belongings, stashing
them into his carryall. He gave the
cubicle a last look, took a glance at the office as it beavered away and
realised that if he never came back it would take them the month until pay
day to notice. AJ-685 was surprised to see its master enter the apartment
at barely 14.00 hours, and was even more perturbed to see him throw his bag
onto the freshly made bed and swing open the wardrobe, pulling clothes and
belongings out. AJ waited patiently at
the door and spoke quietly. “Dogtooth, what’s
wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong
my friend. Nothing at all.” He held up a shirt to the bright Zelonian
light and smiled. “In fact, things
might be taking a turn for the better very soon.” AJ did all but frown, his copper-coloured head cocking to
one side. “What do you
mean?” “All in good
time.” Dogtooth patted him on the
shoulder as he moved back into the living room and flicked the CENN news
channel on. Apparently crime was on
the increase and taxes levied by the Imperial war effort were making life
hard for all Zelonians, as well as planets bordering major space lanes like
the Bordin Space Lane which ran right through Setnin. He smiled as he gathered more items
together, and once he had finished he sat down with a satisfied whack on his
sofa and drifted off into a comfortable sleep. Dogtooth woke at seven to the HoloNet droning in the
background and the patter of rain as it once again fell outside his wide
window. He rubbed his eyes, realising
where he was and sat up in the seat.
AJ was out of the room and the buzz of excitement had abated, leaving
him still with a choice. Loyalty to
Z.I.T.S or a new life with Mister Gold and his organisation. He frowned as he called his droid into the
room. “AJ, I have
something I need to ask you, something very important.” The droid stood in the doorway of the kitchen area, cloth
and dish in hand. “Of course
Dogtooth.” He put the dish down and
sat beside his master, his copper eyes waiting patiently for Dogtooth to
speak. “I am in a
quandary. I have stumbled across some
information, something similar to my discovery ten years ago. You remember that?” “Of course
Dogtooth. How could I forget?” Fford smiled easily. “Of course, how
could you.” Dogtooth had never given
the droid memories wipes. He knew how
advanced a droids personality could evolve without the cruel theft of its
memories. “Well, this particular
discovery is unusual. It is indeed
connected to the very same people who I subverted back then. And they contacted me today, made me an
offer. One which I am very tempted to
accept.” AJ seemed to freeze for a second, and Dogtooth noticed the
reception on the HoloNet flicker just for a moment as if a strong signal was
being sent, and then the droid answered. “Well you have
always voiced your desire to try something new in life. Perhaps this is your opportunity?” Dogtooth raised his eyebrows in agreement and sighed. “True, true. But I also owe a debt of great loyalty to
Z.I.T.S. They gave me a job for
life. And I also know that I am this
close,” He held his forefinger and thumb two millimetres apart. “This close to gathering
enough proof that will conclusively prove exactly who has been taking
these funds. Mister Gold is a dummy
name, but I think…no, I know I can uncover who the thief really is.” Another flicker on the HoloNet as AJ froze, but this time
Dogtooth didn’t notice. He was too
lost in his thoughts and too wrapped up in his indecisiveness. AJ rose to his feet and flicked off the
HoloNet viewer quietly as Dogtooth wandered to the window and watched the
rain fall. “How much would I
miss this view AJ?” The fifty person turbolift was full as it rose from Level 8 on its way up to Level 14, crammed with
all manner of species, droids and Chancai personnel. As each sub level was reached and the doors
opened more people exited than entered until, on the cusp of opening its
doors at Level 14 there were only two men left. The taller of the two, a young fresh-faced
man with ginger hair and a ready smile turned to the other and made as if to
talk. The second man, hooded and
cloaked, visage hidden behind a metal faceplate, ignored the attentions of
the other. “First time on
Chancai?” asked the younger man brightly.
There was no reply. Undeterred
he pushed on. “Don’t think I’ve seen
you around here before.” “Then you should
get out more.” Answered Carlonian Feese as the doors parted and the Mon
Calamarian assassin left the turbolift and made his way down the wide
corridor towards the apartment area of Level 14. The younger man frowned briefly and
followed. “Looks like we’re
heading in the same direction.” “I seriously
doubt that.” The man offered a hand to Feese. “Uunver. And you are?” Feese glanced and ignored the hand as he turned a corner
and checked the numbering of the long passageway. “Ackbarr.” He
answered almost as an afterthought. Uunver
raised an eyebrow and continued. “I’ve got someone
down here I’m supposed to find and…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Talk to.” “It’s good you’re
in a job that uses your talents.”
Replied Feese. He slowed and
turned to the kid, reigning his anger in so as not to draw too much attention
to himself. “I have a job of my own to
do.” He could see the doorway to the
apartment he was seeking just a few meters down the corridor. “So let’s part ways.” The young man nodded in agreement. “Fair
enough. I think my apartment is down
here too.” They both walked on a touch
further, and when Uunver also stopped outside of Mountain View, Unit 4820,
Feeses blew out a quiet breath. Uunver
flashed a smile at the scarred Mon Calamarian. “Wow, what a
coincidence. You’re here to see
Dogtooth as well?” Feese was just about to answer Uunver when the young man
knocked on the door. Out of instinct
Feese took a step to one side. The
door to the apartment opened and AJ-685 stood there, dishcloth in hand. “Yes sirs, can I
help you?” Before anything else could be said Uunver fast drew on the
droid and blasted it halfway across the apartment, sending it smashing into
the coffine table and HoloVid player with an almighty crash. He rolled into the apartment behind the
sofa, checked his blaster for charge and lay flat on his belly. All the time Feese watched from the
corridor, a bemused expression on his hidden face. It would be best to watch this scenario play
out he thought, and held off from withdrawing his rifle. “Come out Mister
Fford. I need to take you back to the
bank. Management need to speak with
you.” His voice, suddenly strong and
in command couldn’t hide the inherent lie within. There would be no talking. Dogtooth shouted back. “So you were
spying on me? I knew it! That’s made my choice for me. Damn you and damn the bank, you can both go
to hell!” Dogtooth moved into the doorway from his bedroom and
peppered the apartment with shots, some hitting his fallen droid, some the
walls and some lacing through the sofa.
Uunver cried out, then there was silence, a groan and a thud as
Uunvers dead body slumped to the floor with a death rattle. Dogtooth frowned and moved further into the
room, looking sadly at AJ who was still slowly twitching, his mechanics
sparking their last. He could see
Uunvers head on the carpet, and looked away as he saw the damage his errant
blaster shots had done to his torso.
Alarms were blaring in the distance and he knew it wouldn’t be long
before Chancai Law Officers and the Setnin Justice Department arrived on the
scene. It was then that Feese stepped
into the light of the doorway. “Dogtooth
Fford.” Said Feese implacably, no
emotion in his deep voice. Dogtooth
raised his blaster again, this time more in fear than defence. “Who are you?” he
asked, a tremor in his voice. Feese stepped forward. “My name is not
important. I work for Mister
Gold.” He looked back over his
shoulder down the corridor. “The law
will be here soon, and neither of us can afford to be caught. I know a quick way off this level.” He motioned for Fford to follow. “Come with me if you want to live.” Dogtooth, backed into the darkest corner of his life knew
that he didn’t have a choice and it was evident that the masked man knew that
too. He grabbed his bag, slung it over
his shoulder and followed the man out of his beloved apartment for the final
time and directly into his new life. “This is your
desk.” Melm pulled back the cover to
the corner cubicle that made up Ffords office. It looked much like his old one had back at
Z.I.T.S, but was significantly larger and housed a state-of-the-art interface
system. Dogtooth smiled as he walked
around the desk and took his seat. He
gave Melm a satisfied grin and nodded. “Who do I report
to?” “Me. We don’t have section leaders here;
everyone is working on projects equally as important as each other.” Melm pulled the cover across the doorway
and stood by the desk. “You will also
report directly to your employer.” “Mister Gold?” Melm cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow as he
motioned for Dogtooth to follow him. “Perhaps we
should take a ride up to Level Nine.” Office
Space 2004 short story by Mark Newbold Two
years after Episode IV – A New Hope Histories – This Mark Newbold story tells of Dogtooth Fford, a number cruncher for
the Zelon Intergalactic Trustee
Savings Bank who gets into a rut in his life and doesn’t know how to get
out of it. Tying in with a number of
plots and stories, namely Glann
Cipples election campaign a decade ago and his latest election success in
the story The Lies Behind the Truth
this shows the levels to which Cipple, and other operations in Setnin society
will go to keep tabs on workers and employees. And how close the population constantly is
to unknowingly stepping over the line. Cast of Characters Dogtooth Fford Mrs Essha Tarainnew Yavin Harleck Glann Cipple Melm Yullm Boba Dallagra AJ-685 Uunver |