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Ch. 7 - Part III - Fan Participation

The others continued to scroll. Cashe pretended to as well, but the rage was bubbling up in him once more. Dante was ecstatic while Roger laughed the more he read. Lia seemed pleased, Miranda wasn't happy, and Karina looked concerned.

"Ooh," Dante cooed, "they want me to record some answers to questions that the viewers submit live."

"Excellent," Cashe managed. "We can continue to promote our project." He stood. "I have to check on the Tunnel. We are getting close to being able to add new rooms. I will be back."

Cashe retreated to the solitude of the dorm area. Entering his quarters, he wanted to scream, unnoticed by the others, but the television episode had filmed him at angles he did not know hid cameras, so there was no true reprieve. He donned up his cold weather attire, maintaining a professional façade. He would not let them see him waver, would remain a professional, and continue to prove his value. Cashe took a slow procession back to the Garden.

He arrived to find Dante in an animated conversation with the refrigerator. It was too odd to ignore, so Cashe headed over to the Kitchen. Dante was reading scrolling information on the door that looked like the live chats. He touched the screen to roll back the feed.

"Oh, yes, everyone here is great," Dante gushed, "and the ladies are really remarkable. I am amazed how knowledgeable and skilled they are. If anyone ever questioned if women could be as competent as men, the women here as proof that it can be the case. Take care of that cold. I see from others that it seems to be going around. Bye, and thanks for the question." A pause before he continued. "They are wonderful." He laughed and looked around, casting a glance at Miranda and Cashe. "No, really, he's a great guy. We're all great friends here."

Cashe snorted. He knew who Dante was talking about. Roger was not great. He only appeared better because of editing. Cashe wandered off to the Tunnel, where the ice should help to cool him down. He found the robots proceeding merrily away, removing ice and installing new panels. The Tunnel was almost complete. Next steps would be to dig in deep non-stop to create another large room. He checked over the walls, inspecting by eye and touch, making sure everything fit without imperfection or movement. All was excellent, installed without human hand. He had yet to find an issue, and he realized that he really wasn't needed.

Cashe considered this. The only place he had been able to display any creativity was with the vermiculture container. He had added spouts for easier removal of the waste, but otherwise, he had pulled the best features from other people's ideas. There had been no issues from his creations, but nothing to show great value to his employers.

His breath clouded before him, more than usual due to the anger boiling inside. He knew there would be the possibility of some embarrassing moments, but he never imagined that they would twist his actions so much to distort his image. As he had signed extensive NDAs, he also knew he couldn't if he would be able to sue them for misrepresenting his character. If he could, the payday would be astronomical, but getting to that point might be an impossible slog.

Cashe knew something about payback. Once, in an effort to cut costs, an employer decided to lay off his best-paid employees in deference to a fresh batch of unpaid college interns. Cashe joined the rest of his former workers at a bar the night after the announcement. He professed a wish to commiserate with the others, but it was more to find what job prospects they were considering so he could hopefully swoop in on those companies first.

The greatest indignity was when one commented that their former boss wanted them to return their company-issued polo shirts. This made no sense until one stated that it was so they could be passed out to those that were replacing them. This horrified Cashe. If this had been the procedure before, then not only had he been working at some shit-shackle operation, but he had possibly been going to work in someone else's washed and ironed hand-me-downs. A plan percolated and he asked if instead, if all those present would be willing to gift him with their company clothes.