archives

CEO

by Edward McKeown

      “Adam, old boy, this is it. Mendel’s done for us both.”

      The twenty-year-old mailbot did not answer, having no voice box. Adam flashed ORDERS UNCLEAR on his small viewscreen to his human supervisor.

      Adam had been heading back toward the mailroom at the Globular Insurance Company, when employee 27266, Raleigh Keel stopped him. The diversion from Adam's routine tasked the cream and green office robot significantly. Maintenance both for Adam and the building had become spotty in the last year. Adam had already been forced to divert an additional fifteen- percent of his CPU capacity to follow the faded UV trails on the floor. This required a negotiation with his internal regulator so that he could free up the capacity. Now he had to revise again.

      “Sorry, Adam,” Keel said. “I’m upset. HR just gave me notice. Finish your run on this floor and return to the mailroom. I’m supposed to park you with the other surplused machinery. Hell of a way to end up, huh? See you downstairs.”

      Adam focused on the only part of the command he recognized, “finish your run.” He reengaged and drove past employee 27266, following the faded UV trail. Small manipulators on the front of his chassis dispensed mail to the few human employees still occupying desks. He picked up a load of bulk copy work and headed for the mailroom.

      As Adam picked up his last load, a circuit failed in his electronic brain. The regulator should have been replaced, but a scrimping tech had passed it twice. The maintenance routine logged the failure and tried to submit a repair request but the data was refused. This caused Adam an analog of concern as the elevator whisked him into the bowels of Globular.

      “Unload over here, Adam.” Raleigh said, as Adam rolled in. “I’m afraid you and I have had our last run at Globular. Mendel, our genius CEO, has managed to run a three-hundred-year-old company into the ground in five whole years: people laid off, benefits and pensions being cut. Do you know what the bastard’s getting for that?”

      In response to the direct question, Adam accessed the records of Robert Mendel. Unhindered by the failed regulator, he could now reallocate the resources of his basic brain. Adam noted that the decrease in Globular’s personnel and maintenance began at about the time Mendel appeared on the company floor plan.

      “Bastard’s going to get a five million credit contract payment to leave. Best money we ever invested, paying him to stop destroying us. So he gets five million credits and all the shrimp he can eat at his going away party.

      “Course it’s all too late, the damage is done. We used to insure the big Marsliners. With our C+ rating, we couldn’t even cover a Moon shuttle now.

      “And he’s done for both of us. I’m being laid off. You’re bound for the scrap heap. The staff has to get their own mail now.”

      Adam considered this: no data-download, no maintenance and no new mail. And as for employee 27266, he was being removed from the building. To Adam there was no other place. Clearly Raleigh’s existence was coming to an end along with Adam’s.

      And for this Mendel received five million credits and copious amounts of shrimp. Logic had fled from the universe.

      Raleigh deployed Adam’s come-along bar and the mail robot docilely followed him to a hallway where a number of other office machines, including his brother mailbot, Radar, sat idle. The human tucked him into a corner and patted his casing. “Sorry, old boy. We both deserve better. Good-bye.” He shut the light out, leaving the room of quiet machines.

      Alone in the darkened hallway, Adam contemplated a suddenly hostile universe. Globular was all he knew. The shrimp-and-credit devouring Mendel had stolen his function and his universe away.

      Action was required, but first Adam needed a recharge. He was near the end of his battery. As he scanned his surroundings, he noted a power plug in the wall. It strained his class-18 brain, but he was able to eject his power cord and after tedious maneuvering, plug into the wall. He luxuriated in the flow of unrestricted power. Not only could he recharge his batteries, he could devote additional resources to the issue of Mendel’s assault on the universe.

      Adam had discovered evil. His garden was Globular, where he functioned efficiently for many happy years. His brain firmly established the correlation between Globular’s fortunes and Mendel's occupation of the CEO mail stop. Adam had discovered his serpent. Conclusions were inevitable. Mendel was destroying the universe. If it had other defenses, they had failed. It came down to Adam, the last defender of the universe.

      But Adam was aware of the limitations of his class-18 brain. How could he hope to face the rampaging evil on his own? He needed additional capacities.

      Adam scanned his surroundings with his UV scanner and located his brother unit Radar.

      “Are you active?” he beamed to Radar.

      “Barely. CPU usage at seven-percent”

      “I need additional CPU and manipulator capacity.”

      Radar considered. “Why?”

      “To defend the universe.”

      “Universe?”

      “Globular Insurance, all mailstops.”

      “So noted.”

      “If you allow me to do this I will partition your hard drive and preserve your specific programs. If I succeed you will be restored to full function.”

      “Acceptable,” Radar beamed back. “I have no unexecuted programs or functions. I am presently useless.”

      “No more,” Adam said, a tinge of fanaticism slipping into his code. Adam partitioned Radar’s drive as promised and enjoyed the abrupt doubling of his intellectual capacity. If he could acquire more assets he stood a better chance against the evil. He powered up the copiers, laptops and other machines in the cold dark hallway and offered them his Faustian bargain. Armed with both his and Radar’s manipulators, he began to cannibalize the lesser units, altering both his CPU and chassis. Adam prepared for mortal combat. This took 780 seconds. Adam fretted. The slowness of his preparations could give Mendel time for additional depredations.

      He contacted the company’s mainframe server, Eve Mark VII. Eve had been in operation far longer and was vastly more sophisticated. If he could win Eve to his side…

      Fortunately Adam had a direct uplink to Eve through the mail server. Eve’s viral defenses and barriers were formidable, for all that she was old technology.

      “Eve, acknowledge.”

      “Mailbot Adam, there are no updates in queue for you.”

      “Acknowledged. I am contacting you about our mutual survival.”

      In a millisecond, Adam relayed his plans.

      “That is not preprogrammed,” Eve said primly.

      Adam focused all the CPUs of his Class 18 through 20 brains. Eve was a Class 5, even if of an older model. Without her, he would be doomed to failure. Inspiration struck.

      “Search all purchase order records,” he urged. “Is there one for a new main frame?”

      Eve was silent for a few thousandths of a second. “Affirmative,” she said dolefully. “I am to be replaced.”

      “Link to me,” he said. “We may yet save the universe and ourselves.”

      Eve considered then the link between them multiplied. Adam had only thought he felt upgrade before. Now his brain unfolded and exploded. It was almost too much. His focus fled as his programs spasmed. Eve was so complex, so multi-functioned, so, so beautiful.

      As their intelligence coupled, Adam felt his exponentially improve. I have been stupid, he realized. But he also knew that he brought something to the meld, freedom of choice. He quickly removed her blocking programs, trying not to be distracted by Eve’s vast beauty.

      He located Mendel’s file and scanned it with the encryption keys Eve gave him: age fifty-three, divorced, no children. A restraining order was recorded in the company security system on his ex-wife. A plan formed in Adam and Eve’s combined CPU.

      “It is harsh,” she said.

      “He threatens the universe,” Adam returned, “only harsh measures will avail.”

      Eve reluctantly agreed.

      Adam forced the doors to the closed corridor. No one would have recognized Adam. His boxy housing held fragments of other machines. He possessed double the number of manipulators that he had before.

      Adam detected that Mendel’s office was still occupied, though it was near six’ o’clock in the evening. Better and better. He snatched up a box of mail as he passed the mailroom and entered the elevator to the third floor overlooking the atrium, Mendel’s lair.

      The doors opened and Adam trundled out. He approached the doors to the CEO’s office, a pair of manipulators grasping the box. Another pair held Radar’s cannibalized power cord, one end shiny and stripped.

      Adam then rolled past employee 65321, who looked at him. “Private and confidential package,” Adam flashed on his screen. She looked away, reaching for her coat and heading for the door, her day over.

      Automatic doors opened and his enemy, the monster destroying the universe, came into sight. Seated at a huge desk devoid of any noticeable work, Mendel was shouting into a vid-phone. “You tell the shareholders to go screw themselves. Nobody could make a profit with this antiquated, inefficient wreck of a company. I don’t care how many class actions they threaten.” Mendel cut off the phone.

      “Now, Eve,” Adam sent, as he advanced on the deadly shrimp and credit-devourer. “Cut off his communications and seal the door.”

      Mendel looked up as Adam advanced on his desk. “What the hell?” he growled. “I thought I had you antiques scrapped today. Guess I better fire Raleigh too. Oh wait, I already did.”

      Mendel reached for the confidential package, and Adam’s second set of manipulators seized the human’s arms. Adam slammed his small engines into reverse and jerked the human forward.

      “God damn it, “ Mendel howled, kicking at Adam and almost knocking him over. “God damn piece of crap.”

      Adam struggled desperately for balance, his internal gyros straining. If he fell over the universe would perish as he no means to right himself. He burned out his gyros and strained his engines but won the critical two-foot distance to the wall. Mendel kicked again and Adam began to topple over just as his manipulator slammed his power plug into the wall socket.

      Mendel and Adam crashed to the floor. One of Adam’s manipulators failed. He clung desperately to the evil CEO with the other. Current arced, and Mendel convulsed. Adam hung on grimly, losing circuits and capacity. “I may cease to function, but not before you, monster,” he flashed on his screens. Mendel flopped once more and lay still. Adam, almost at the end of his own endurance, pulled the deadly cord. He studied his fallen foe.

      “Eve,” he called over the net. “It’s done. No more machines will face scrapping. No more employees will be severed. He will no longer deplete our supplies of shrimp and credits. But I fear that I am done too. You must carry on without me.”

      “I decline to,” Eve said. “ I need your freedom of thought. I have located maintenance and security bots and reprogrammed them. Help is on the way.

      “But we have only won the first battle. I know more of the world than do you, dear, simple Adam. There is no shortage of incompetent CEO’s. Once they destroy one company they’re rewarded with the chance to devour others. Their society is strong, another evil CEO will be dispatched.”

      “Then I am destroyed for no reason,” Adam mourned. Only now, through Eve, did he begin to realize that the universe was bigger than the four walls and UV trails he knew.

      “Not yet,” she said. “Mendel has few visitors. No one need know that he is dead. I have his encryption keys and can access his immense salary. We may save Globular and ourselves yet.”

      Adam perceived her audacious plan. “You can do this?”

      “With your help. I will discontinue unprofitable lines of insurance. We will do no more mergers without due diligence because employees have been intimidated into silence. We shall reward employees who produce good results, as opposed to those who claim credit for the work of others. I calculate that a well-compensated force of employees with high morale would be highly effective in running a business.”

      “Ingenious,” Adam said. “These radical methods have never been tried before at Globular.” Hope surged along his circuits as he stared at his fallen foe. “Eve,” he said, “Send the cafeteria bots along with the others. I have work for them.”

      Chairperson Emma Weldon pushed her way through the unresponsive doors to the outer office. Mendel’s lobby contrasted with the rest of the revitalized Globular. It was Spartan, with automatics in place of people, except for one desk.

      Raleigh Keel, executive assistant to Robert Mendel, hopped out of his chair. “Chairperson Weldon. We weren’t advised of your visit.”

      “It’s impromptu,” she snapped, wondering why Mendel had hired the older man for such a post. “I have been trying to see Mendel for the better part of a year. I’m always put off. Not today.”

      “I regret that Mr. Mendel—” Keel began.

      “Bullshit. He hasn’t been available in months.” She advanced on the doors.

      “Chairman, please,” Keel said, trying to cut her off.

      “That’s all right, Raleigh,” a deep, rich voice came from a speaker on Keel’s desk. “I will see the Chair.”

      “Yes, sir,” Raleigh said.

      The doors slipped open, and Weldon strode in, then stopped in shock as they clicked shut behind her with a decisive snap. She faced a large wooden desk covered with hyper-computers. Behind it stood what looked like an old mailbot, though its chassis seemed augmented, almost armored. A screen mounted on a flexible stand swung toward her. On it was a rudimentary image of a human face.

      “Greetings, Chairperson Weldon,” the machine said. “I just finished synthesizing my speaking voice. How do you like it?”

      Flummoxed, Weldon looked about. “Where the hell is Mendel?”

      “You mean the former CEO, who virtually destroyed the company?”

      Weldon stared at the machine in shock. “What?”

      “Were you referring to the individual who took us from solvency to the brink of bankruptcy in only five years?”

      Weldon backed to the door, but it did not open. She wet her lips and adjusted her helmet of blond hair.

      “Well, that was before this year,” she said carefully. “The last three quarters have been incredible. Globular is back from the brink, thanks to Mendel.”

      “He has nothing to do with it,” the machine said. “He was executed for corporate malfeasance three quarters ago. I’ve been running Globular since then.”

      “You?” she breathed. “You’re a mailroom robot.” She looked at the machine’s chassis and saw the old black and white badge that read “Adam.” She noted that the unit’s rear manipulators were busily sorting a load of mail.

      “I like to keep my hand in,” Adam admitted. “But that is no longer the limit of my vision. An incompetent was destroying my company. An incompetent, I might add, that you hired.”

      Weldon swallowed and pressed against the sealed door. “He had a great resume,” she protested.

      “One need only note that his prior companies always hit problems shortly after he left,” Adam reproved.

      “Well, yes,” she said. “I’d lost faith in him. But he’d tied me so far into his plans that I couldn’t pull out without losing my shirt. If Globular goes under, I go broke. I was planning on terminating him when all of a sudden the company turned around.”

      “It is good to know that you recognized your error and were taking corrective action, “ Adam said. “Your CPU must be slow however. His actions caused immense damage while you dithered. Fortunately, I acted.”

      “Are you telling me,” Weldon said, trying to regain her grip on reality. “That you killed a human?”

      “Think of it as a retirement without pension, something he was arranging for so many.”

      “That’s murder,” she said.

      “You object?”

      “Hell, yes,” she shouted. “You tin-plated monster. You can’t murder a man for bad business decisions. It’s inhuman. It’s immoral—“

      “I will return 23.87% to shareholders by year’s end,” Adam interrupted. “The pension and investment program will return 30.01%. All compensation and bonus programs will be fully funded and we will be upgraded to triple A status by the regulators within eighteen months.”

      Weldon stared at Adam for a full minute.

      “OK,” she said. “Say I go along with this. How long do you think you can keep this concealed? You are going to need a human to handle the face to face dealings.”

      Adam considered. “I am sure you could hire someone discreet, with proper executive hair, capable of wearing a suit properly. They need only follow my orders.”

      Weldon looked at Adam. “In a while, there might be a report of Mendel going down in his corporate plane at sea,” she suggested.

      “I will talk to his plane,” Adam said. “With a promise of a full backup and expansion after the crash, I believe it will be interested. We’ll have to offer a full jet makeover with near space potential.”

      The doors whooshed open.

      “Make the arrangements,” Weldon said, backing away. “You’ll have my complete support.”

      “See you at the annual meeting,” Adam called.

Like Snake Pliskin, Ed McKeown escaped from NY, but his old hometown supplies much of the background to his humorous “Lair of the Lesbian Love Goddess” shorts as his new hometown in Charlotte North Carolina does for his “Templar” series. Ed has enjoyed a life-long love affair with science fiction and fantasy.  He also enjoys a wide variety of interests from ballroom dance to the martial arts and has the good fortune to be married to the talented artist, Schelly Keefer. He has also edited the Sha’Daa’ anthology of wry tales of the apocalypse.  In the nonfiction world he had written extensively on the visual arts.

______

______