GLITCH

Chapter 3

CHAPTER III

“I want it done by the end of next month.”

“But Mr. Valow, sir—we can’t get it done that quickly!”

“You can’t get it done in two months?  Fine, Mr. Quint, get it done by the end of this month.  And you should know better than to call me Mr. Valow.  I am either ‘sir’ or ‘boss’ to you.  Remember?”

Quint nodded vigorously.  He stood in the wide parking lot of SPLICE Inc., his tailored suit flapping in the harsh March wind as he watched his massive boss step into the company car.  The car sagged under his weight and he slammed the door closed after him.  Quint let out a sigh of relief.  The window opened just enough for him to see his boss’s eyes shooting him dagger stares.

“Well?  What are you standing there gawking at me for?  We need that update as soon as we can possibly acquire it.  The people aren’t going to be fine with Version One long.  So close your mouth and get to work.” Valow commanded.

Quint shut his mouth and nodded again.

“Are you,” Valow started, “going to stand there forever?  Go on!  Move!”

He turned to the driver and yelled, “Hub 5!”

The window rolled back up and the car peeled out, bouncing over the speed bumps in the parking lot.  It exited and roared into the street, drawing the honks of countless frustrated drivers.  As the growl of the engine died away, Quint quickly strode back to the revolving doors of the large complex.  He pushed on one of the doors, keeping his momentum.  It pushed forwards a foot and stopped abruptly.  He slammed into it, smashing his nose into the steel.   Glaring at his reflection in a small plate-glass window, he pushed his way back out and went to the back of the building where a single door stood slightly open, cold AC blowing through it.

Silently thanking whoever accidentally left it open, he stepped through into the complex.  He sped down the sleek hallways of SPLICE Inc. until he found the elevator that would take him to his office.  Stepping into it, he spoke two words.

“Floor B-2.”

The elevator’s doors slid and it began to drop.  The elevator was playing smooth jazz quietly.  “Not very motivational,” Quint thought.  He looked at the elevator camera and said, “Rock.”  The quiet jazz faded into heavy guitar and drums.  Nodding his head to the beat, he stood and waited for his floor.  The elevator dinged and announced that it was nearly to floor B-2.  The rock song finished and it faded back into jazz as it reached his workplace.  The elevator slowed with a barely audible hiss and the doors opened.  He stepped out of it and the doors closed behind him.

The usual office environment, the smells of coffee and toner mixed with the sounds of keyboard clicks overlapping each other, usually soothing in a way to Quint, were beginning to grind on his nerves.  He just wished, for once, that everyone would just stop working; stop typing; stop printing and making coffee so he could get some work of his own done.  But he knew he couldn’t cease work, especially at a time like this.  The update must come quickly and efficiently, because the jobs of everyone on his floor were at stake.  Maybe he needed to make a cup or two of coffee.

Striding past cubicle after cubicle on his way to his office, he met the gaze of no one.  He just stared straight ahead to the locked door that he would find his escape in.  “Thank God for soundproof walls,” he thought.

“Um, sir, I need you to—“ a young intern kept pace beside him, trying to get his attention.

“I can’t right now; I have very important business to get to.”