Free Thomas World by Richard Cox Page B

have proof.
    In front of me, the blue orb hovers on the screen.
    I’m about to click on it when I hear hushed footsteps, and then once again William’s face peeks around the corner of my cubicle. The rest of him is still on the other side of the wall, which makes it seem as if his head has somehow become disembodied.
    â€œThomas,” he says. “Could you join me for a quick meeting in my office?”
    â€œSure. Right now?”
    â€œYes, now would be great.”
    William’s face disappears and the sound of his footsteps quickly recedes. Obviously he isn’t too pleased with my procrastination on the Google project, and I can already tell I’m going to hear another speech about how my mind hasn’t been in the game lately. But I don’t have time for this now.
    I grab my notepad, which I always bring to meetings with William, regardless if they are five-minute “huddles” or twenty-minute “brainstorm sessions” or hour-long “staph meetings.” My teammates and I spell it staph instead of staff because long, pointless meetings make us feel feverish and lethargic, like a staph infection might.
    Anyway, the notepad is usually there to record whatever random ideas William stumbled across after watching a webinar or reading an industry blog or reviewing his old MBA textbooks. Today, though, he’s probably going to assign some new targets to my project plans, to make sure I stay on task and get my work done on time. But I can’t believe the timing of this. I need to be sitting in front of my computer. I need to be downloading that Ant Farm program and trying to decode Dick’s strange message.
    I have to admit, though, that William’s concerns are well-founded. My productivity has been shit lately. I can’t remember the last time I spent all day working on anything. As I trudge down the cubicle hallway toward William’s office, I rack my brain to remember what projects I was working on last week, when I was ignoring the Google report. But I can’t think of anything. All I can think about is that damned blue orb.
    I don’t realize until I reach his office that the door is closed. William never closes his door when he’s just invited you in for a meeting. This is highly improper.
    I’m not sure what do, so I knock.
    â€œYes, Thomas,” William says. “Please come in.”
    I open the door and find my boss sitting behind his desk, looking even paler than he usually does, his face slack and uncertain and frightened. The next thing I notice is Brin Finneley, our company’s senior legal counsel, sitting in a chair across the desk from William. Seeing Brin in here causes my heart rate to immediately double. It causes my hands to shake. You don’t want to see Finneley, not ever, unless maybe you bump into him in the cafeteria. And even then, while he’s spooning pasta salad into a Styrofoam container, and you’re standing next to him, waiting for your chicken sandwich to be ready, you half-expect Finneley to look up at you and yell “BOO!” Because Finneley is the company’s Grim Reaper. He sits in on all dismissals to ensure fired employees know their rights, and to protect managers like William from saying something that could lead to a lawsuit.
    â€œHave a seat,” William whispers, and gestures to the other chair.
    There is a brief but terrible moment where I’m afraid my eyes are going to well up, or that I might lose my temper and say something cutting to William about how awful his people skills are. Instead, my mind simply blanks out. In place of the usual thoughts and images that take place in there, I just hear static.
    â€œBzzzzz,” William says. “Bz bzzz bz bzz bzz bzzz bzzzz bzz bz bzzz bzzz bzz bz bzzzzzz.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say. “What did you say?”
    â€œI said today will be your last day of employment here. Thomas, are you feeling