"Lawrence Watt-Evans - The Spartacus File" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

challenges of the twenty-first century. Now, though, when all the people in high places, all the bosses,
 were working together, it was hell. Any time he had to talk to the boss, any boss, his life got worse.

But maybe this time it wouldn't betoo bad.

He hesitated in the doorway of the cubicle, peering in. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Quinones?” he
asked.

Quinones looked up at him, smiled, then leaned back in his chair. The chair did not squeak, as Casper's
would have, but sighed faintly as the cushion reshaped itself under his weight. Behind Quinones the
towers of Center City Philadelphia were visible through the broad expanse of window, towers that
formed a panorama of glass and concrete glittering in the sun. A vapor trail straggled across the sky
above the gleaming skyline.

"Ah, yes, Casper,” Quinones said. “Please, come in and have a seat."

Casper entered, his feet silent on the thick carpet, and nervously perched himself on the hard edge of a
handy chair.

Quinones leaned forward again, and pulled at a hardcopy folder on his desk. His screens were folded
down out of sight, as usual—he was fond of saying that his work was with people, not computers. “I'd
like to discuss your job performance, Casper,” he said, opening the folder.

"Is there some complaint?” Casper asked uneasily. If he'd screwed up a liability trace he was dead, he
knew it—but he didn't think he had.

Of course, someone could have complained anyway.

"Not exactly.” Quinones smiled. He turned over a few pages in the folder without bothering to look at
them; it was clear to Casper that the documents were just props, something to keep his hands busy, to
help him time his words for maximum dramatic effect. Anything important would have been on a screen,
not on paper.

"Casper,” Quinones said jovially, “we've come to the conclusion that your job skills are outdated. We
need to keep up with the latest software, you know, and we're going to. An entire new system will be
installed over the coming weekend, and it doesn't look like you'll know how to run it."

"No, sir,” Casper admitted, “I probably won't.” Damn, he thought, am I about to be fired? If he once
lost this job he'd probably never find another one anywhere in the Consortium, and outside firms didn't
pay enough for him to live on. He was still paying off his parents’ legal fees; any cut in his income would
mean he'd starve.

He couldn't stop paying the debts, or they'd come and take everything he owned, up to and including a
few body parts. Starvation, though, wasn't their problem.

"We've considered our alternatives,” Quinones told him, leaning back again. “It's not cost-effective to
re-train you by ordinary methods—it's simply too time-consuming. And bringing in someone new to do
the work wouldn't be any better—again, too time-consuming. We need to have someone running traces
withinminutes after the new software comes on-line next Monday morning—minutes, Casper.” He
waggled a fat finger to emphasize his point, then continued, “We have come to the conclusion that the