Freedom Incorporated - Peter Tylee (best biographies to read TXT) 📗

The people around him were enthralled. Some nodded at seemingly random intervals, wearing their most scintillated expressions while doting on every word dribbling through the audio system. Whatever the Frenchman was prattling on about it must have been mesmerising. Nathan snuck a look to his right and saw his CEO, Neil Walker, leaning forward, eagerly awaiting the next slide that would fade onto the screen. He didn’t appear nervous. How’s that possible? Nathan wondered, sitting on his hands to stop them from fidgeting. It didn’t work. A few seconds later he was rearranging the papers that had cascaded over his generous desk. The black velvet folder at the bottom of the medium sized stack sent chills through his fingers whenever he touched it. The last time Nathan remembered being so jumpy was before a debate in high school. Year eight history if I’m not mistaken. In any other circumstances he’d be grinning at the memory, but instead he clamped his jaw shut to stop his teeth from chattering, just as he had then.

The thought of delivering bad news to the most powerful people in the world wasn’t something he relished. Oh shit, they’re going to eat me alive. He cast another glance toward Neil, admiring him for his outward calm. They’re going to chew him up too. He had no difficulty imagining them lynching everyone in the PortaNet corner.

He’d been trying to summon the courage for weeks. He had to present PortaNet’s research findings but had shrunk from the task at every occasion, always ending up thoroughly disgusted with himself. Today’s the day. His breathing deepened as a fresh wave of adrenaline tingled his innards. Years of public speaking didn’t appear to be paying off.

Deep down, he knew today wasn’t his day and he despised himself for it. He took self-loathing to a completely new level and wondered whether he should start a drug habit to conform to his pitifully low self-opinion.

Next time. He’d used the same consolation before. But this time I mean it. Sadly, he’d meant it last time too.

*

Jackie sucked in her stomach and puffed out her chest before shoving the doors open. Nobody paid her much attention, save for a few bored members at the back of the hall who broke off their game of hangman to snigger at her tardiness.

She absorbed the scene in an instant and determined that she hadn’t missed anything important. She rarely did. At least, nothing vital to the smooth operation of her company. With a determined stride that could shrivel the penis of a horny chauvinist, she wove a path to her seat, three rows from the front on the right side of the partial locus. And with measured movements she laid her agenda on the desk, which curved to the right and merged with her armrest. Next, she opened the dainty earphone canister and plugged the earphones into the intended socket.

“…that it’s not important. I think it clearly demonstrates this.” It was a young woman’s voice, which seemed wrong when the speaker was a fifty-something man. Who co-ordinates these things? She wished she knew. She’d have some harsh words to deliver from her forked tongue if she could find the appropriate people to spit at.

“I would like to thank you for permitting me this opportunity today…” The interpreter paused, hesitating with her translation. “I hope you have a better understanding of the intricacies involved in American-European trade relations.”

The spectators started clapping. Oh God, not again. Jackie hated it when people clapped. It was so… thirties. But the age distribution in the room fit perfectly with the antiquated custom. Haven’t we grown out of that yet? She, for one, had never clapped at a WEF meeting. And she never intended to either.

She curiously scanned the meeting’s agenda for anything of interest while the French orator left the stage to make way for the chairman. She knew she had a while; the man was more lard than anything else. What a fat tub of shit. It filtered through her callous mind in a matter-of-fact tone. He’d be the perfect candidate to test Xantex’s oh-so-miraculous weight-loss drug. He was too large to walk - he waddled. And he soured the appetite of anyone near him in a restaurant.

Unsurprisingly, there was nothing on the agenda that tickled Jackie’s fancy and she contemplated leaving. After all, she had important things to do. Then she remembered - she needed the WEF. She needed the status and power that membership into the secretive invitation-only organisation conferred. It amused her to think how it’d wrested so much influence from the old-style governments and come to dominate the world. Genius, pure genius! Invite the rich and powerful to a private cubbyhole, stand back, and watch them change the world. She was inwardly impressed by how far the WEF had come since its infancy in the late twentieth century. Now it closely resembled a world government - The World Government - or so it purveyed. The fact that it harboured only the first world’s interests didn’t matter. Concern over the squalor-bound third world was dwindling due to floundering public pressure. She thanked the TK-Media Empire for that, specifically the seven men and two women in the first row on the left side of the arc. And the fact that the WEF was non-democratic flowed like water off a duck’s back - she was one of the invited. Sure, UniForce currently has only one seat, but soon we’ll have more. Still in its relative infancy, UniForce was one of the newest giga-corporations on the well-beaten block.

Corporate-driven issues consumed a hefty chunk of the agenda. A button on her control panel would place her in a time-slice queue if she pressed it, but she couldn’t think of anything worth raising. No, today I watch. The concerns dredged up by her fellow corporate leaders were usually more interesting than the scheduled presentations, which explained why Jackie wasn’t shy of turning up late to WEF meetings. She didn’t really give a flying fuck what some pretentious French attaché thought about Euro-American trade relations. It was far more interesting to sit through the snarling and clawing of inter-corporate bickering on matters that ranged from mundane copyright infraction to exotic hostile takeovers. Besides, it was her duty to interact with fellow Important People. Sometimes she thought she spent too many hours buried with tedious matters that nobody else seemed competent enough to deal with. She inwardly sighed when a Xantex drone plodded to the stage. I need to find someone reliable, someone to make those decisions without me. Her skin crawled when she thought of Paul Savage taking more initiative. And, she thought brutally, I need someone clever enough to keep him on a tight leash.

The man at the podium was proposing a new law to make it easier for Xantex to access sealed patient records. Jackie wondered whether anybody in the room was paying attention. People were muttering in dozens of private conversations that spread like wildfire across the hall. The Xantex representative, possessing such a timid voice, found it difficult to maintain order. Jesus, haven’t you got any balls? Even the sensitive microphone and audio loop equipment weren’t helping. The man spoke the way he walked - plodding along in monotone with a painfully regular cadence. When it was time for the vote, Jackie watched less than a third of the attendees reach for their controls. So she took pity on the man and decided to boost his voting turnout. But that meant she must also decide how to vote, and she’d paid no attention to the details of his proposal. I bet you have a small dick. She thumbed the button marked ‘negative’ and impatiently waited for the voting window to lapse. The results projected onto the screen: motion rejected. He required a 50 percent majority and, being incapable of enthusing 50 percent to vote, passing the motion was unlikely.

Little of interest turned up during the remainder of the meeting and Jackie was almost relieved when the chairman announced the closure of the meeting. Resembling schoolchildren released from class after an intensely boring day, a wave of WEF invitees shuffled for the portals, Jackie among them. She wasn’t in the mood for hobnobbing and she’d already registered her presence. She’d even participated in several votes and that was what counted. Participation was a vital component to acceptance in the WEF community.

It was a relief to get back to San Francisco, but a drain on her patience at the same time. Paul Savage ambushed her as soon as she stepped from the portal.

“Ah, there you are.” Paul smiled affably, turning on his cheap charm. “I wanted to talk to you about, uh, the shareholder meeting.”

“Good.” Jackie was already looking forward to the end of the conversation, but the meeting was in less than three hours and she had to set things straight in Paul’s muddled mind before then. “Now’s perfect. My office?”

“Sure.” Paul meandered unsteadily through the corridors, frustrating Jackie that she had to slow her pace on his behalf. “I’ve been reviewing, uh, the figures.” He paused to rub a hand across his face once he was occupying the seat opposite Jackie’s desk. “I think the shareholders will be pleased.”

Jackie nodded for the benefit of their work relationship, inwardly itching for the opportunity to replace him. She didn’t want the limelight for herself, but she had to select his replacement carefully and time the transition to perfection. Shareholders were finicky. If their feelings were even slightly out of tune, they’d dump UniForce stock with joyful abandon. Jackie attributed it to their mental instability. That was why Paul Savage was so important; he had a certain quality that shareholders loved. He was a harmless-uncle figure with which they would trust their hard-earned investment Credits. Jackie hated shareholders even more than she hated Paul. Her ideal company had unlimited capital and no shareholders. A dream. A pleasant dream that left her warm and fuzzy inside, but reality always came crashing through like a pail of cold water, rather rudely she thought. “And you’re comfortable answering questions about our new direction?”

Paul’s bushy eyebrows twitched, announcing that he had no such comfort, but he nodded regardless. “Uh, yes. I think we’ll do well to reinforce the theme of our return to, uh, grassroots.”

What a stupid thing to say. Jackie had to bite the inside of her cheek - hard enough to draw blood - to stop from saying the flood of venomous things that popped to mind. Grassroots? Our grassroots are in criminal apprehension, not private security. She leaned back in her inflate-a-gel cushioned chair while she thought of how to tell Paul he was an idiot. “Maybe instead you should say we’re heading in a brave new direction. Tell them we’re poised with the opportunity to raise UniForce to the next synergetic level.” She would have offered him a sour smile if it didn’t stretch her skin like a mannequin. “I don’t think people are interested in grassroots anymore. The past is over and people are dusting their palms and looking to the future for salvation.” She leant forward, placed her elbows on her desk, and stared into his puppy-dog eyes. “And that’s what we can sell, an image of UniForce providing the salvation they’re so desperate to find.” Didn’t I set up a marketing department to come up with this crap? It sickened her to think they were employing an entire floor of marketeers and this pathetic scrap sitting in front of her hadn’t consulted them about the shareholder meeting. She couldn’t fathom that the marketeers would recommend the grassroots approach. It was extinct. It hadn’t been successful for over a decade. The marketing department, not a true company branch since it lacked a co-ordinator, was being woefully underutilised. She planned to fix that at the