Free Paranoia by Joseph Finder

you’ll find out, is running into some heavy weather. There are some serious fires to put out, and—here she is!”
    Nora Sommers was standing at the doorway, one hand on the doorjamb, posing like a diva. She extended the other hand coyly. “Hi, Adam, welcome! So glad you’re with us.”
    “Nice to be here.”
    “It was not an easy hire, I’ll tell you frankly. We had a lot of really strong candidates. But as they say, cream rises to the top. Well, shall we get right to it?”
    Her voice, which had almost had a girlish lilt to it, seemed to deepen instantly as soon as we walked away from Tom Lundgren’s office. She spoke faster, almost spitting out her words. “Your cubicle’s right over here,” she said, jabbing the air with her index finger. “We use Web phones here—I assume you know how?”
    “No worries.”
    “Computer, phone—you should be all set. Anything else, just call Facility Services. All right, Adam, I should warn you, we don’t hold hands around here. It’s a pretty steep learning curve, but I have no doubt you’re up to it. We throw you right in the pool, sink or swim.” She looked at me challengingly.
    “I’d rather swim,” I said with a sly smile.
    “Good to hear it,” she said. “I like your attitude.”

13

    I had a bad feeling about Nora. She was the type who’d put cement boots on me, bundle me into the trunk of a Cadillac, and throw me in the East River. Sink or swim, tell me about it.
    She left me at my new cube to finish reading orientation stuff, learn code names for all the projects. Every high-tech company gives their products code names; Trion’s were types of storms—Tornado, Typhoon, Tsunami, and so on. Maestro was codenamed Vortex. It was confusing, all the different names, and on top of it I was trying to get the lay of the land for Wyatt. Around noon, when I was starting to get really hungry, a stocky guy in his forties, graying black hair in a ponytail, wearing a vintage Hawaiian shirt and round black heavy-framed glasses, appeared at my cube.
    “You must be the latest victim,” he said. “The fresh meat hurled into the lion cage.”
    “And you all seem so friendly,” I said. “I’m Adam Cassidy.”
    “I know. I’m Noah Mordden. Trion Distinguished Engineer. It’s your first day, you don’t know who to trust, who to align yourself with. Who wants to play with you, and who wants you to fall flat on your face. Well, I’m here to answer all your questions. How would you like to grab some lunch in the subsidized employee cafeteria?”
    Strange guy, but I was intrigued. As we walked to the elevator, he said, “So, they gave you the job no one else wanted, huh?”
    “That right?” Oh, great.
    “Nora wanted to fill the slot internally, but no one qualified wanted to work for her. Alana, the woman whose job you’re filling, actually begged to get out from under her thumb, so they moved her somewhere else in-house. Word on the street is, Maestro’s on the bubble.” I could barely hear him; he was muttering quietly as he strode toward the elevator bank. “They’re always quick to pull the plug when something’s failing. Around here, you catch a cold and they’re measuring you for a coffin.”
    I nodded. “The product’s redundant.”
    “A piece of crap. Also doomed. Trion’s also coming out with an all-in-one cell phone that has the exact same wireless text-messaging packet, so what’s the point? Put the thing out of its misery. Plus, it doesn’t help that Nora’s a bitch on wheels.”
    “Is she?”
    “If you didn’t figure that out within ten seconds of meeting her, you’re not as bright as your advance billing. But do not underestimate her: she’s got a black belt in corporate politics, and she has her lieutenants, so beware.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Goddard’s into classic American cars, so she’s into them too. Owns a couple of restored muscle cars, though I’ve never seen her drive any of them. I think the point is for Jock