the postmen

1

Winston Q is alone in the Nostradamus Room, waiting for you. He is sitting at the long meeting table that occupies much of the room, his swivel chair turned away from you so that he faces the plate-glass windows that run the length of one wall, offering a view out across the city of Seattle. A curious habit, given that Winston Q was born completely blind.

"Come in," he says, as you stand in the doorway. "Take a seat."

You do so. "I confess I feel quite underprepared for this meeting," you say, as he turns to face you. "But then, nobody seems to know what it might be about." Winston Q is chief financial officer of MetaHuman Incorporated, a position of considerable importance. You can't imagine what you might have done to attract his interest. Or, for that matter, his wrath.

"To all external intents and purposes, MetaHuman Incorporated is a biotechnology firm," Winston continues. "We use cutting-edge science to improve the human condition. And, of course, we attach a substantial price tag for our services. But you've been with us a while now. You know what really goes on in this building. We play with dark sorceries and extraterrestrial technologies. We gleefully cross lines that humanity was never meant to."

"Yes," you answer. "Our company is rather unusual. I still don't see why you wanted to speak to me."

"I want to talk to you about the theft of two million dollars," he says. "The theft that you committed."

Winston sighs, then says, "I wouldn't make an accusation of such magnitude without corroboration." He slides a tablet across the table in your direction. "Here you'll find a summary of the evidence we have against you. Unapproved requisition of resources, company funds funnelled into well-hidden accounts that can be ultimately traced back to you. Et cetera."

He waits while you examine the tablet. It displays various transaction receipts, emails, computer logs, and so forth. Overall, it is just as Winston said. The evidence is clear. You have stolen two million dollars, or thereabouts, from MetaHuman.

And yet, in your heart of hearts, what do you know to be the truth of the matter?

I've expended considerable effort tracking your activities," Winston says, "And so I think I'm entitled to some answers. I'll ask you a couple of questions, and I'd appreciate truthfulness. First, do you consider yourself a charitable person? Second, did you commit this crime?"

Winston frowns. "My question about your nature is to satisfy my own curiosity. I find you can learn a lot about a person if you test their self-regard. As for your denial of this crime, I'd hoped for more cooperation on your part."

(Initial Candor 50, initial Ruthlessness 58)

A moment's pause, and then you say, "Well, this evidence seems damning. What happens next? Where do we go from here?"

"There is one more matter I'd like to discuss with you," says Winston. "Remind me, what career route brought you to MetaHuman? What's your professional background?"

You have a sneaking suspicion that Winston knew precisely what professional trajectory you followed, and you wonder a few moments at his motives in asking you the question.

"I imagine that news has filtered down to your department concerning MetaHuman's performance of late."

"I've heard some things," you say. "As much from external media as internal sources."

"Then you know we're in a bad situation," says Winston. "Our existing products have been the source of a series of legal disputes and public relations fiascoes. All current product developments have been frozen pending the resolution of lawsuits that could drag on for years. Despite decades of success, we've essentially been reduced to a company starting out from zero. We're just barely allowed to continue trading on the New York Stock Exchange, but President Takei himself is keeping an eye on us. And then there's our CEO, Anaru Katariki, who has literally disappeared amid rumors of gross professional misconduct and an assortment of criminal activities. MetaHuman's best investigators cannot find him—and they are very, very good at locating people."

"I'd heard stories about Mr. Katariki's disappearance," you say, "but I wasn't aware of the specifics."

"We're trying to keep these things secret," Winston tells you. "Have you ever met Anaru Katariki?"

"Not personally, no."

"Really? Now that is curious. He has been very interested in you for years."

Next

"The employment contract of the CEO of MetaHuman Incorporated contains a very specific clause that allows him to name his successor, should he suddenly be incapacitated and unable to fulfill his professional obligations—for example, if he suddenly disappears. Mr. Katariki has chosen to exercise that clause. And he has named you as his replacement."

For a moment, you're sure you must have misheard Winston. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Then let me be as blunt as possible. You are to take over the position of chief executive officer of MetaHuman Incorporated, for a minimum period of one year, with the salary, privileges, and obligations that the role affords. And as for this recent matter of you stealing two million dollars from the company…we'll forget all about that, as a gesture of goodwill. You may of course decline this post, if you prefer—should you choose to do so, however, MetaHuman will aggressively prosecute you for your recent criminal activities."

Winston gives you a few moments to absorb that. And at last, you manage to say, "Why me? Why did Mr. Katariki want me for this job?"

Winston sits forward in his chair. "We do not know. And we'd very much like to. In truth, MetaHuman could break this clause. It would be costly and tiresome, and no doubt details would leak into the press and we'd have to answer some uncomfortable questions. But it could be done. And yet we still wouldn't know why Katariki chose you for this job. How better to get that information than to indulge him? So you really have a very simple choice. Take this job—with its excellent pay, and the publicity and opportunities for networking that will boost your employment potential a thousandfold, no matter how things turn out. Or go to prison, and be forgotten."

Winston rises, and crosses the room, one slender finger staying in contact with the edge of the meeting room's table. You note he moves with remarkable self-assurance.

"I'll give you a little time to think about it," he says, and passes you a slim dossier. "Here's your contract. Read over and complete the personal information—human resources stuff—and sign at the bottom. You can bring it to my office at the end of the corridor when you're ready."

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