Free Robyn's Egg by Mark Souza

won’t hear the end of it until I at least try.”
    Petro nervously glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “About that,” Petro said, “You’ve got to have your eyes open going in. It’s not as easy as it sounds.”
    Moyer tapped his wrist to point out the time. “I’d love to talk, but we only have ten minutes until start of shift and there’s something I have to do.”
    Moyer stood in the corridor trying to muster some nerve. Less than eight minutes remained on morning break as the status timer counted down. It was now or never. Moyer took the stairs and stood frozen in front of Berman’s door. What courage he’d mustered in the men’s room had evaporated during the short trip to Berman’s office.
    This was Petro’s scheme and Petro’s fault. The idea might have died quietly on the vine had nature taken its course, but no, Petro had to bring it up in front of Robyn. Until then, it was only a notion, a what if.
    He paced in front of the door whispering what he planned to say, wondering how Berman might respond. Why was he so afraid? The status board ticked under seven minutes. Down on the main floor, Petro waved to get his attention and rolled his hands in a circular motion urging Moyer to get on with it. Moyer drew in a deep breath, let it puff out his cheeks and rush past his lips. He knocked. A gruff, muffled voice from inside said “Come in.”
    Louis Berman stood with his back to the door gazing out a window in the rear wall of his office. It looked down over the cubicles in the basement. Moyer wondered how a man like Berman came to be programming supervisor at a software company. He didn’t fit the type.
    Berman turned his head toward Moyer, ran his eyes from toe to head and then turned back to the window as the employees wander back to their desks. “Winfield, isn’t it?”
    “Y-y-yes sir.” Moyer waited frozen in place, haunted by the feeling that this was a horrible mistake. The rehearsed words fled his mind like cockroaches scurrying from light.
    “The board is at five minutes, Winfield. Spit it out or get back to your desk.”
    Moyer’s mind was a blank. He tried to recall what he was going to say. He thought back to his conversation with Petro. Then it came to him in a rush. “S-S-Sasaki, sir, I-I-I assume the company will be interviewing to fill his position?”
    Berman turned from the window and focused his dark eyes on Moyer. “Go on.”
    Moyer caught sight of the long jagged scar running across Berman’s scalp. It looked as if he’d had his head split wide open, which begged the question, how? Had it been some kind of accident, or the result of violence? Moyer bet it was the latter, and an attack from behind. Who on God’s green Earth would risk trying to club such an imposing man face to face?
    “Winfield?” Berman urged.
    “Sir, sorry. I-I-uh, want to be considered for the opening.”
    Berman’s expression changed. He smiled slightly. “I’ll see to it that your name is on the list.” Then under his breath he added, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
    “Sir?”
    “Nothing Winfield. If you do become lead, you understand the dedication and sacrifice involved? I’d have to know that your top priority is assuring this project comes in on time. Do you understand?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And you’ll do whatever it takes?”
    “Yes.”
    “So how is the program coming?” Berman asked.
    “Uh, we’re on schedule. We’re a few months from live testing. We’ll need to find beta subjects.”
    “Don’t you worry about that. Just make sure to finish the test routine.” He gazed out the window again opening onto the basement. “The clock is almost at zero, Winfield. Hurry back to your desk before you go red again. Go, go, go. You can’t afford another one.”
    It wasn’t until he closed Berman’s door that Moyer was able to process what had happened. His muscles quaked under the influence of all the residual adrenaline in his system. But he’d done it.