Kilroy was Here Read online

  • Swipe your ID badge at the key pad.

  • Enter code 1968.

  • Engage in the security dialogue.

  • Present your badge to the security guard and they will provide you with your training packet.

  I swipe the badge and enter the code and draw a deep breath in anticipation of the security dialogue. Certain security clearances require an extra level of verification. This means engaging in a precise verbal exchange with a disembodied voice. The script for this conversation is displayed on my tablet, yet I feel as if I don’t need it. Even though I’ve only been to Corporate once before for orientation, a strange sense of déjà vu washes over me like I’ve done this a million times before. I know the dialogue by heart even though I’ve never seen it before. The security box beeps and the disembodied voice speaks to me.

  “State your business here, please.” The voice is female.

  I clear my throat. “Yes, I’m here for the sexual harassment training.”

  “Why? Are you wanting to be sexually harassed or do you wish to perform the harassment yourself?

  “Neither,” I respond. “It’s a seminar on Corporate policies regarding sexual harassment.”

  “I get sexually harassed all the time. I can tell you the policy. Don’t be an asshole who hits on women in the workplace. How hard is that?”

  “It’s not hard at all,” I say.

  “You’re probably picturing me naked right now, aren’t you?”

  Even though I know this is only a script for the security dialogue, I’m still taken aback by her question. Mainly because, yes, I was picturing her naked and I’m ashamed of myself. I also imagine she is wearing glasses.

  “No,” I lie. “Not at all.”

  “Of course, you were,” the voice chastises. “You can’t help it. You think I’m naked because you don’t see me as a business partner who brings value to the organization.”

  “I think you bring a lot of value,” I tell her and, even though it’s dialogue, I mean it.

  “I’m a disembodied voice,” she says. “I don’t even have a name. Why wouldn’t my designers give me a name? Who sexually harasses a nameless disembodied voice?”

  “Not me.”

  “Whatever, dude. Go to your little seminar.”

  Our script ends and the gate slides open as per protocol, but I get the impression she didn’t really want to let me in. The five-story building looms over a massive paved parking lot like something from a dystopian future. The campus spreads out into four wings on each side. Cars cover the parking lot in all directions as I drive toward the front to visitor parking. No particular protocol exists for where I’m supposed to park. I don’t feel like walking a long way in this heat.

  My stomach knots as I enter through the revolving door into the lobby. Usually meetings with Max or Randi occur at a remote location or information is relayed via Rube Goldberg protocols and Terry the Trainer, so this is like entering the home of a great uncle you just met. The lobby is spacious and bustling with people milling about carrying laptops, tablets, and file folders. Two sets of stairs curve on either side of the atrium leading to a second level of Plexiglas windows and doors. A large engraved sign hangs above the stairwell proclaiming the Corporate vision statement:

  TO BRING HUMANITY CLOSER AROUND THE GLOBE AND ACROSS THE UNIVERSE WHILE MAKING AS MUCH MONEY AS POSSIBLE

  I stand with my mouth open at the immensity of this place. It occurs to me I don’t know where the Rings of Saturn room is.

  “Can I help you, young man?”

  I look for the voice calling to me and spot a duo of security guards. One is short and thin while the other is more rotund. They remind me of David Spade and Chris Farley, but the thin one’s security badge identifies him as Jerry. The Farley one’s badge says his name is Dale. I approach them. It sounds like they’re watching YouTube videos. Dale is probably older than my dad but younger than my grandpa. Jerry’s age is harder to determine. Do they know what really goes on here? Do they wonder? This cloak-and-dagger secrecy is exhausting.

  “You look lost.” Jerry speaks. His voice is pleasant and welcoming. “Can I help you find what you’re looking for?”

  After the slightest pause, I respond. “Yes. I’m here to meet with Max Gentry to debrief a covert operation and provide information about an impending alien invasion.”

  He frowns slightly and checks a clipboard for the meeting I’ve described. “Are you sure that’s today? I don’t see it on this list.”

  “I’m kidding. I’m here for sexual harassment training.”

  “Are they training you how to sexually harass?” Dale asks with a playful grin. “Hell, I can give you some pointers on that, fella.” He wheezes out another laugh that morphs into a full body cough and hands me a three-ring binder. His cough wanes but not enough to form words so he points at a clipboard with a sign-in sheet. Pretending to laugh at something I don’t think is funny is not one of my strengths, so I produce a short snicker-snort-chortle combo pack I imagine folks in a Corporate breakroom produce in such scenarios before walking away.

  “Rings of Saturn room,” the wheezing security guard calls out. “Take the elevator to the fourth floor, hang a right. You can’t miss it.”

  I walk toward the elevators straight ahead. Behind the Plexiglass above, people scurry about from place to place. Some wear suits and ties, some wear khakis and polo shirts. Most everyone walks with purpose. A man and woman enter the elevator and stand in front of me. They press the button for the third floor. They do not look at one another as they speak. Instead, their eyes are glued to their tablets.

  “Fourth floor, please,” I say and they honor my request. The man huffs as he swipes his tablet screen.

  “That new Senior Data Architect is really busting my balls over these recontextualization reports,” he says. “I’m pretty sure he expects us to pull this information from the RDB.”

  “RDB?” asks the woman.

  “Rectal Database. You know, he wants us to pull it out of our ass.”

  The woman grunts in agreement as she looks at her tablet. “Don’t I know it. It’s not realistic. That information does not resonate with my call center people.”

  “The call center fields a variety of customer service calls,” I blurt. “The array of topics our customers call about range from invoice validation to billing inquiries, from shipping confirmation to order processing. While Corporate is dedicated to maintaining its vision for high-end technological solutions for our customers, we also believe in the value of human-to-human interaction with them.”

  The pair turns to me as if I’m a little kid who told a dick joke at Thanksgiving dinner. I place my hand over my mouth to prevent more less-than-fascinating information from spilling. Why in am I doing this? Why do I know this crap? I didn’t even know Corporate had a call center.

  The elevator stops at their floor and the man and woman walk away to deal with recontextualization reports and rectal databases. It occurs to me not all alien life resides beyond the portal. Sometimes strange creatures who speak unintelligible languages are right under our noses.

  Emerging onto the fourth floor, I am greeted rudely by brilliant light from too many fluorescent bulbs overhead. A large black-and-white photograph dominates most of the right wall of the hallway. It’s a portrait of a man wearing a sad, contemplative smile. A scruffy peppery beard covers his cheeks and chin and he hand rests against his face in a contemplative pose. A quote appears next to him.

  The day is coming when all shall know.

  Simon Tybalt, founder of Corporate

  1967-2010

  The Rings of Saturn room is an unimpressive meeting place with a long conference table filling much of the middle. A flat screen television hangs at one end and a white board at the other. The wall across from me features a large motivational poster in a bold frame of faux mahogany. The image on the poster is a tiny sailboat being tossed on stormy waves as ominous clouds loom overhead. The word courage stands tall under
the image in bluish-gray letters. I squint to read the caption underneath.

  We can no longer wait for the storm to pass; we must be courageous enough to sail through it.

  I roll my eyes at the sentiment. I’ve seen such items before in office buildings and at school. I hate them. If you need pithy quotes attached to a generic image to inspire you at work, you’re in the wrong job.

  “Ah, Tony.” Max Gentry enters the room and shakes my hand. Randi follows close behind.

  “I appreciate you coming in on such short notice,” Max says and gestures to a fruit tray on a credenza. “Help yourself to some catering.” I fill a tray with pineapple and watermelon because I realize I’m starving. I shovel in fruit like I’m competing in some health food speed-eating contest. Max’s phone rings and he apologizes and tells us he really must take this call. Randi takes a seat at the table so I sit next to her.

  “It’s good to see you,” she whispers. “We really need you. This is big.”

  Max ends his call and sits across from us with a file folder. “Enjoying the catering?”

  “This is good pineapple.” I shove another piece in my mouth.

  “We wanted to recognize you for all your efforts,” he says. “Randi has a gift for you.”

  Randi reaches under the table and produces a gift bag and hands it to me. Sprawled across the bag are the words THANKS FOR BEING AWESOME! in a joyous font. Inside the bag is a coffee cup filled with jelly beans and a gift card to a local coffee shop called You’re Grounded. Tied to the handle of the bag is a Mylar balloon. Both the balloon and mug also say “THANKS FOR BEING AWESOME!”

  “What’s this for?” I ask.

  “First, it’s long overdue after what you’ve been through,” Max says. “I’m impressed with the way you’ve engaged adaptive action items in an effort to re-energize your potential as human capital.”

  I don’t understand what he’s saying so I nod and shove some watermelon chunks into my mouth.

  “You have maximized functional personal schemas and achieved a respectable level of growth I find highly sustainable.” He stands and retrieves a remote control from the credenza while I wipe watermelon juice from my chin.

  “Do you know what he’s saying?” I whisper to Randi.

  “I never do,” she says. “Just nod and say things like ‘absolutely’ and ‘agreed.’”

  “Agreed.” I nod.

  “Let’s get started on this,” Randi says. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. There’s been a breach at the portal. Several, actually.”

  “Yes.” Max points the remote at the flat screen. Video footage of the portal opening plays as he continues speaking in some unintelligible language. Blips of light shooting out from the portal fill the screen. “A systematic infiltration of our world by unidentified entities has put us on high alert. We need to rapidiously actualize our bandwidth in an effort to proactively expedite pandemic strategic imperatives. My ask is that you help us with this project. Will you help us, Tony?”

  “Absolutely,” I say, my mouth full of one last piece of fruit. “I even concur.”

  “Don’t overdo it,” Randi mumbles under her breath.

  “Excellent!” Max reaches into his pocket and produces one of his beloved sour apple lollipops. He offers one to both Randi and me. “They help me stay energized.”

  “No, thanks.” I instead stand and fill another plate with the fruit they must’ve had catered by heaven itself. “Do these breaches have anything to do with Grandor and The Prom Night of Which We Shall Not Speak?”

  “The what?” Randi asks.

  “I mean, the night Jeff disappeared.”

  “We’re not sure,” Max says. “We still have a Tiger Team devoted to investigating any compelling connections or synergies between these data points.”

  I’m not sure if his statement warrants an “absolutely” or an “agreed.” I contemplate my response while enjoying another piece of the most sumptuous watermelon I’ve ever tasted. Should I tell Max now about seeing what I think was Jeff last night? I’m not sure I can trust this situation.

  “This is what we know.” Randi speaks while Max projects a series of images on the flat screen. The first is Grandor the Malevolent posing in what looks like a rejected Hollister photo shoot. “Grandor the Malevolent has a history of invading a planet, terraforming it and turning it into a resort for other alien lifeforms. These life forms usually possess a nefarious reputation for engaging in organized crime.”

  “Gangster aliens?” I ask.

  “Something like that,” she says. “They’re usually not good dudes.”

  “Grandor relies heavily on these organizations to invest in his properties.” Max adds. The image of Grandor dissolves into a spinning globe similar to that of Earth. As Randi speaks, images appear around the globe such as water slides, golf, and snow skiing.

  “The data from gathered intelligence suggests Grandor has targeted Earth for his next vacation spot.”

  “How does he terraform a planet into a vacation resort?” I ask.

  “This.” Max points his own remote at the flat screen. I study the image projected there, a device resembling a futuristic garbage disposal. It looks familiar to me, but I don’t know why. It’s like seeing a photograph of someone you once knew, but can’t place from where. I’m also jealous because I want a remote, too.

  “What is that?” I ask. “And how do I get my own remote?”

  “A quintonium drive,” Max replies. “Quintonium is a substance found in the furthest corners of the galaxy. In its natural state it is very volatile, but when processed through this drive, it has the power to terraform a planet into whatever Grandor programs it to.”

  “That’s a lot of power,” I say. “Seems like it would destroy whatever it is aimed at.”

  “Grandor has developed sophisticated programming that turns this into more of an uber 3-D printer,” Randi says. “He turned a backwater moon into a miniature golf course.”

  “That’s crazy,” I mutter.

  “That’s nothing,” she adds. “The 418th hole is guarded by a giant underground worm. If you don’t get a hole-in-one, you’re toast.”

  “The quitonium drive is believed to be the most powerful machine in the known galaxies,” Max says. “Some intelligence even suggest it can open portals and even create new ones.”

  “Who’s been guarding the portal?” I ask.

  “Max and I have rotated shifts on that,” Randi says.

  Max puts his hands on my shoulders. “Tony, we need your effervescent ability to deliver core competencies.”

  I look to Randi for translation.

  “You’re a great intern,” she tells me.

  “Agreed.”

  “Your assignment is two-fold, Tony.” Max points his remote once more at the flat screen and a small spider device appears. “Randi?”

  “This nanotech is the possible key to all of this. We believe it’s why Grandor the Malevolent was here and we also believe it is the reason for the recent breaches.”

  “What is it exactly?” I ask. “And why does it have to look like a spider? I hate spiders.”

  “It’s an interesting piece of cybernetic technology,” she says. “We believe Grandor wants to steal this nanotechnology to turn humans into robotic servants for his new resort.”

  Something sparks in my brain. The same sensation I had when I spouted off about the American Dream to Dad or the invention of ice cream to Life Coach Gilbert or the Corporate call center on the elevator earlier. It’s the exact vibe I got when I recognized Randi’s weapon last night.

  “That’s Araneae,” I blurt. “Araneae.”

  “How do you know that?” Randi asks.

  “It enters the bloodstream of its host like a parasite and finds its way to the host’s brain stem.” I speak as if I wrote the device’s instruction manual. “Once there, it has the capacity to control the host and even take over its consciousness. It’s more than a nanotech. This nanotech was developed by Corporate
Labs in 2006 as a means of creating field agents with enhanced abilities.”

  “What the hell?” Randi walks to me and stares into my eyes. I continue spouting off about the Araneae like I’m speaking in tongues.

  “Host subjects can dramatically conceptualize an expanded array of action items and core competencies in an effort to holistically engineer high-payoff scenarios.”

  I snap back to reality, aware of my blabbering but clueless as to why.

  “What happened?” I gasp. “Why did I do that? What’s wrong with me?”

  “How do you know about this?” Max asks. Randi keeps staring at me.

  “You’re making me uncomfortable,” I tell her.

  “I could say the same about you,” she says.

  I back away from them toward the door. I want to leave, climb into my car, purchase the necessary equipment to turn my car into a time machine and travel back to the point in my life before I worked for Corporate. Then, I’d never apply for the job and none of this would be happening. That seems like a perfectly logical solution to my problem right now.

  “How long has this been going on?” Randi asks me.

  “It’s been happening to me. I recognize stuff. I know stuff. I don’t know how.”

  Max rubs his face. “We need to act with urgency here. We need to proactively expedite mission critical deliverables.”

  “Agreed,” I say.

  He steps to the whiteboard, picks up a marker and starts scribbling. “Let’s quickly brainstorm short-term, low-impact solutions. First, we need to send you through the portal.”

  My chest tightens and my breathing becomes labored. I bend over and grab my knees. I’m sure I’m about to fall over.