Kangaroo Court

The recession began on a Monday with a junior analyst in an obscure New Boston brokerage. At 9:32:07 he found a quarter-point dip on a hyperderivitive of a tertiary economic indicator. A cursory check found similar dips in adjacent verticals. All his mathematical and statistical training told him the dip was a fluctuation, a bit of background noise that had no real effect on the economy. But sometimes, he’d always believed, a man has to go with his gut.

By 9:42:23 he had posted a commentary on his firm’s blog titled, Are We in a Recession. (He forgot the question mark.) “The major indicators are going up. But is the market headed for the second moon or the void between the stars?” At 9:45:07, the feed curator of Stockman Financial News scanned the post and ordered it moved to the top, declaring it, well-written, authoritative without being megalomaniacal, and sexy the way the girl next door looks, the more you look at her. The assistant protested that the post was predicated on faulty statistical assumptions, and besides bravado in its opinion, had very little to do with actual physical sex appeal. To this the boss conceded that the sexual metaphor was too far from reality to be taken seriously as an argument, but concluded that he, the boss, was in fact the boss and hence the only person really entitled to opinions in this office. At 9:48:24 the article went up.

The posting had the effect of a webcam on a nuptial bed. By 10:00 sharp, all of Ameria’s financial firms had even their average minds scrutinizing the article. By 10:17:01 a flurry of supporting editorials had appeared on the feeds of most of Ameria’s financial press. By then, more words were only so many more viewers to the voyeuristic party, or to put it more precisely, only so many decimal points in a hypertrophic tertiary derivative view of the market. Investors had long since (meaning since about 10:09) started unloading stocks in favor of bonds. By 10:20:31 all major corporations on Ameria were considering layoffs to placate their shareholders. Lists of potential layoff candidates were available by 10:26:58. 

At 10:38:18 the junior analyst of the New Boston brokerage (now promoted to ‘Special Advisor to the Firm’) was busy working on an editorial for the Amerian News Network wherein he advised the consumers of Ameria to be wary. The hidden hand has brought down the terrible swift sword. Don’t buy big ticket items. Don't buy durable goods (defined by the government as anything designed to last more than two hours). Really, just stop spending money. Predictably, the planet’s economy slumped into a recession.

*   *   *

“Mr. Schultz, will you come with me, please.”

Mr. Schultz? He had worked with Andrea for ten years and suddenly it was ‘Mr. Schultz’?

“I don’t need any back talk.” Sometimes it almost seemed as though she could read his mind.

She stood in the open pod hatch, her right leg twitching slightly. She was keeping from stamping her foot like a child.

She was silent as she led him past the automatic doors. They made their way to a conference room arranged like a courtroom. Behind the ‘judge’s’ desk sat a creature who, instead of hair, had noodle-like tendrils that still somehow reminded Schultz of a powdered wig. Two beings in white personnel blazers, a man and a female Selk, stood at either end of the judge’s bench and slightly in front of it. Next to each of them was a merce-cop doing his best to look menacing.

“What’s this, Andrea?”

“This is your due process hearing,” said the man in the white blazer.

“My what?”

“Sellicon is restructuring. We need to lose some jobs.”

“You’re firing me?”

“Now, Schultz!” Andrea’s leg was twitching again. “You’re not being fired, at least not yet.”

“You really should let me handle this,” said the man. “You might say something Sellicon will later regret regret.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Now”, the man continued. “As required by law we are providing you with a due process hearing pursuant to an action of termination.”

“So you are firing me.”

“Don’t take this personally, Jon.” Andrea always called him by his first name whenever she tried to make him feel better. “We’re letting go of 700 people this week.”

“You always were a bit of a sycophant, Andrea.”

“Mr. Schultz.” The man  was speaking again. “As your advocate I must advise you that anything you say can and will be taken down and used against you.”

“But I haven’t done anything.”

The Selk faced the noodle wig. “Your honor, I’ll be adding the charge of lying to a personnel officer to the charges.”

“When did I lie?”

“Just now, Mr. Schultz.”

“About what?”

“Our records show that on the third of August, 427 AF, you did knowingly and willfully use a company device to check rover traffic along skylane 78.”

“That was eight years ago.”

“Nevertheless,” said the Selk, “such behavior cannot be tolerated.”

“Andrea, are you going to let them treat me this way? Andrea?”

Schultz turned 360 degrees. His boss of three years and friend of ten was nowhere in the room.