The Gord Project

On The First Day

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But with his patience wearing thin, Mark Roid was close to making liars out of them all.

“What the heck is all this?” Mark frowned at the thick stack of papers cluttering his desk. There were many things he could forgive, but not mess. He preferred everything neat, from his living quarters to his scotch.

The young man sitting across from him looked at the ceiling and then at the floor, anything to avoid looking Mark in the eye.

“Well?” Mark prodded. “I’m waiting.”

“That’s the finished project, sir,” the young man finally mumbled. “The one you assigned to me a few weeks ago.”

Mark blinked. He couldn’t remember the young man’s name, let alone the project he’d been working on. More likely than not, he’d assigned the young intern some kind of busy work, just to keep him out of the way. He’d long ago lost his patience for mentoring.

“Which project are you talking about? Speak up!”

“Your project,” the intern squeaked, dutifully raising his voice. “The instructional pamphlet for how to live well, prosper, do good works. That sort of thing.”

“Yes, yes, I needed a few paragraphs written,” Mark said, the memory coming back to him. “One-sided, high-quality stock, perhaps a nice image or two.”

“Well, sir,” said the intern, gazing miserably at the behemoth on Mark’s desk, “there may have been a bit of scope creep.”

“A bit?” Mark hefted the tall stack of papers to gauge their weight, then dropped the pile back down onto his desk with a bang. “Good Lord, this thing is hundreds of pages thick.”

“Yes, sir,” the intern replied, bringing his hands up into a praying position in front of his face. “It’s perhaps somewhat wordier than you had expected.”

Mark rose abruptly from his desk and went over the server to pour himself a cup of coffee. Not that he needed another cup; his nerves were already shot this morning. But getting one would give him some time to think and collect his thoughts, and he wanted to choose his words carefully.

He added a packet of sugar and some cream to his cup and carefully stirred it with a small silver teaspoon. He tasted it. It was cold and bitter, just like his first wife. It must be yesterday’s brew. He wondered where AtAt was, with the fresh beverages and hot pastries piled high on her cart. He took a few more sips, until he was sure he was calm enough to speak to the young man.

“Look, Jordan, let’s back up a bit. You’re new here, a recent grad. I understand that. And maybe I should have supervised this assignment a little more closely. But all I wanted was a simple how-to guide. A few words of wisdom to live by, really.”

“It’s Johnson, sir.”

“Pardon?”

“My name is Johnson. Not Jordan. And again, I’m sorry, sir. Things clearly got out of hand.”

“But you were the project manager, Johnson,” Mark chided, taking his seat behind the desk. “How could you have let it get so far off track?”

“I tried to stop them, sir. But they all went over my head.”

“Who did?”

“The writers.”

“Writers? You mean to say there was more than one? For a simple tip sheet?”

“At last count, sir, I think there were a dozen.”

“A dozen!” Mark took a few more sips of the bitter coffee. He needed to keep his temper in check. After all, this kid wasn’t much older than his own daughter, Aster. “How did you expect to get anything done with a dozen writers on the project?”

“I tried to get them to collaborate at first, but we weren’t getting anywhere, so I finally told them they could each write a chapter.”

“An entire chapter!”

“Well, actually we call them books, not chapters. The writers really seemed to like the sound of that.”

“Books?”

“Yes, one named after each writer. The Book of Paul, the Book of John, the Book of Simon…”

“Good Lord.”

Mark pulled the heavy stack towards him and rifled through the pages. He skimmed a few paragraphs here and there. He tried to think of something positive he could say.

“It’s certainly comprehensive,” Mark offered. “But what happened to the simple ‘do unto others’ that we discussed in the briefing notes?”

The young man shrugged. “That was the starting point, sir. But then the project committee decided we needed to get input from the other departments, and then some people started harping on the whole Age of Reason and all that, and it was decided that the target market might need, you know, some more details.”

“More details?” Mark raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”

“You know, the back story. How it all began. Future revelations.”

“Future revelations! What the heck would they need to know that for?”

Johnson picked at a hangnail. “The idea was they might be more, um, motivated to do unto others, if they knew what the future holds.”

“Good Lord!” Mark got up and walked over to the wide-screen Vivi-Viewer. He stared down at the tiny blue planet far below, flicking through a few channels to see various parts of the world. On this planet, many of the humans were getting ready to plant vegetables using some rudimentary tools. They were entering a new stage in their evolution, and Mark was hoping that this time, they wouldn’t screw it up.

He turned back to the young intern. “I don’t like it. We’ve made the guidelines far too complicated.”

“If it helps, sir, we’ve included an executive summary,” Johnson said. “It’s called The Ten Commandments.”

“Why ten?” Mark asked, surprised they would try to put a number on morality. “How did you determine there were precisely ten rules to live by?”

“Actually, there were eleven, “Johnson shrugged. “But the graphic designers thought ten looked nicer with more white space, aesthetically speaking, and it helped to balance the page.”

Mark sighed, shaking his head. “Since when do the aesthetics become more important that the message?”

“I am truly sorry, sir,” Johnson said. “I wish there was something more I could do.”

Mark took pity on him. “Look, I appreciate your efforts, Jordan. Johnson. You’ve obviously worked very hard on this. But I think we need to dumb it down. Keep it simple. You include all those details, you’re just opening the door to misinterpretation. We don’t want them getting the wrong ideas.”

Johnson got up and joined Mark at the Vivi-Viewer. He, too, marveled at the splendid blue and green marble below him. It was a sight that no one in the Human Evolution Project ever got tired of looking at.

“But it’s already been approved, sir.”

Mark stared at him. “Approved? Without my input? I’m the one who assigned you the project in the first place.”

Johnson nodded. “It’s been approved, sir.”

“All the way up to the top?”

Johnson lifted his eyes up to the ceiling, as if he might be able to see right through it and beyond. “All the way up to the very top, sir.”

Arguing, then, would be futile.

Mark looked back at the thick pile of papers on his desk and sighed. “You know, nobody’s ever going to read all of that.”

Johnson’s brightened, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, actually, sir, you may be quite right on that point. At least, not for several thousand years.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Johnson nodded towards the blue planet on the Vivi-Viewer, his smile now wide. “The target market profile just came back this morning. Turns out none of the people down there are literate yet. Not even close.”

Mark stared at him. “You’re kidding me.”

“No sir, they’re still a long way off from reading and writing, let alone inventing a printing press.”

Mark burst out laughing. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Put that target market profile through the shredder and we’ll do the drop on the planet tomorrow with no harm done. In fact, let’s knock off early and go have a drink.”

“We can’t,” Johnson reminded him. “Staff meeting, remember?”

Mark groaned. “Who the heck schedules these things so late in the afternoon?”

Johnson shrugged. “According to the memo, sir, it was your boss.”

...

Mark slipped into the meeting room a few minutes early, hoping to snag a chair by the exit. The large meeting-room table was horseshoe-shaped, so everyone could see everyone else as they sat around the perimeter. At the open end of the horseshoe was a large audiovisual screen and Vivi-Viewer. A title slide for the meeting’s presentation was already up on the screen: Our Processes; Our Progress, it read.

Mark sighed. The meeting was going to be even more dull and tedious than he had imagined.

Next to the screen, on the right-hand side, sat Gordon, Mark’s boss. “Come in, come in,” he gestured to Mark and the employees scurrying in behind him. “The sooner we begin, the sooner we can get home to supper.”

Mark sat down nearest the door and put his notepad on the table. He noticed Bonnie Marrows come in, and he waved to her, patting the chair next to him for her to sit down in. She glanced at him for a moment and then, as if she hadn’t seen him, hurried by to take the seat directly beside Gordon.

Brownnoser, Mark thought to himself. He wondered if Bonnie was gunning for the same promotion that he was.

“Can someone dim the lights, please?” Gordon asked. “We’ll get started.”

The lights dimmed and the dull, sleepy hum of the projector filled the room. Mark wondered when the organization was finally going to update its ancient equipment.

“Sorry to call a meeting so late in the afternoon,” Gordon began, “but I’ve received numerous complaints about people taking shortcuts through our established twelve-sigma lean processes. Not to mention our costs are up three percent over last quarter, and that’s getting noticed – all the way up to the top.”

Here, Gordon paused to look upwards for a moment, and everyone followed suit.

“Now first off, I’m going to call Maxwell up here to give us a short review of the filing process.”

Mark inwardly groaned. The humming of the projector was making it hard to stay awake.

Maxwell stepped up to the podium and brought up his first slide: Human Evolution, Lower Level (HELL).

“Just a friendly reminder that once an unsuccessful planet has succumbed under the Universe Project, it must be filed accordingly down in the basement,” Maxwell advised.

Mark had observed that whenever someone said something was a friendly reminder, it was never friendly at all.

Maxwell clicked to the next slide. It showed a picture of the elevator buttons, with the LL for Lower Level circled in red.

How condescending could he get, Mark wondered.

“HELL is easy to find,” Maxwell explained. “Just get on the elevator and hit the LL button, which stands for Lower Level. When you get off, you’ll see the sign welcoming you to the Human Evolution department. There’s a reception desk to your left and they’ll take your files for you.”

The next slide came up: Please use the handbaskets.

“The ergonomic health of our employees is critically important,” Maxwell stated, looking around the room with a stern expression. “If you have more than ten file folders going to HELL, please ensure you use the handbaskets provided. They’re designed to carry a heavy load.”

A ripple of laughter floated around the horseshoe. Failed planets numbered in the vast majority, and documenting all that had gone wrong with the human beings that inhabited each one rarely required less than fifty folders.

The next slide appeared: Destroy All Manuscripts and Notes (DAMN).

“Now if your planetary evolution is such a failure that there is nothing new to be learned from it, please don’t burden us with the task of filing folders filled with notes of no value. Just take it to the recycling facility on the Lower Level and DAMN it all to HELL.”

Maxwell brought up his last slide: Human Evolution, All Variables Exceeding Norms (HEAVEN).

“Finally, in case anyone has forgotten, the HEAVEN documents and records for your more promising planetary experiments are now stored on the very top floor, to provide the senior executives with easier access,” Maxwell said.

“Excuse me,” piped up Bonnie, “but can I use the handbaskets to deliver my HEAVEN files?”

Mark rolled his eyes. Everyone knew that HEAVEN experiments were so exceedingly rare that a handbasket was hardly necessary.

But his boss Gordon smiled at Bonnie and nodded. “Excellent point, Bonnie. Let’s take a strength-based approach here. We should all be optimistic about what we’re trying to achieve. I like Bonnie’s can-do attitude, and it’s something we should all try to emulate.”

Gordon looked pointedly around the room, stopping to look Mark in the eye for just a moment.

Mark squirmed.

Bonnie beamed.

“Thank you, Maxwell,” Gordon finally said. “Now I’d like to call Jessica up to go over our budgets and discuss some new cost-cutting measures.”

Mark crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. This meeting was never going to end.

...

Mark rubbed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t had that large tumbler of scotch last night. Or the second. Or the third. He was getting a scant amount of sleep as it was these days, and mornings came all too soon. But Aster had begged to sleep over at a friend’s house, a “study date” according to her, and there was no one else to go home to.

And this turned out to be the worst morning to have a hangover. He’d noticed something odd the second he got off the elevator and began the long walk down the corridor to his office. Every person he passed by stared at him and then quickly looked away. His friendly “good mornings” were met with a curt response or silence.

When he got to his office, the door was closed. On a yellow post-it note was written, See me! – Gordon.

Now what?

Hastily chewing a breath mint, he had made his way to his superior’s office. Now he sat across the desk from Gordon, staring at the same gigantic stack of papers that had sat on Mark’s own desk only the day before.

“So, you’re saying you didn’t actually bother to read your intern’s assignment before you approved the Auto-Drop down to the planet?” Gordon was asking.

Mark took a deep breath, bringing the scent of freshly brewed coffee into his nostrils. He wished he could have some, but Gordon hadn’t offered him a cup.

“With all due respect, sir, I didn’t think it was necessary,” he finally replied, nodding at the thick tome. “I was told it had already been approved, all the way up to the top. And given the sheer volume of it, I thought my time would be more productively spent, uh, elsewhere.”

“Like at the bar, I suppose,” Gordon replied.

Mark squirmed. Did Gordon really know where he had gone after yesterday’s endless meeting, or was it just a lucky guess?

“Look, Mark. We’re not just talking about doing an Auto-Drop while being blind to what the content is.” Gordon tapped the thick manuscript with his pen. “Did you not think about how an illiterate society was going to react to seeing printed text? Not even handwriting?”

Mark sighed. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think this through.”

“Clearly not,” Gordon agreed. He began rifling through the thick stack, his brow furrowed.

A sense of dread clenched its fist around Malcolm’s stomach. Was Gordon going to ask him to clear out his desk? That would be a disaster. How could he support Aster without a job? He watched his boss’s face carefully, as Gordon leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, as if deciding what to do.

“Sir, I promise this will never…” Mark began, but Gordon cut him off.

“Look, Mark. You’ve worked hard here at the Universe Project. And yes, I know you’ve got your eye on that promotion to the Board. If you can manage to snag it, then another ten or fifteen years after that, you’ll be looking at retirement, along with a healthy pension.”

Gordon leaned across the desk and looked Mark in the eye. “So I’ll tell you what I’m going to do for you, my boy. I’m going to give you a chance to fix this. Make it right. What do you say?”

Mark blinked. He'd never known Gordon to be so considerate. “That’s…that’s very generous of you, sir.”

Gordon smiled and nodded, pleased with the compliment.

“Now clearly we have to get the words handwritten, so that as soon as your planet does start to grasp the rudiments of written language, finding this giant book won’t come as such a shock to them,” he explained. “I can call in some favors and get several dozen staff working around the clock to get all of that handwriting done for you within only a few days.”

“Awfully kind of you, sir.” Mark repeated, wondering how Gordon knew that the target market was pre-literate.

“However, I’ve read through the document and I’m concerned about some of its content.”

Mark cocked his head. How could Gordon have read through the entire document in less than a day? He must have had an advance copy. He wondered if Gordon had secretly been involved with the project from the very beginning. He recalled how Johnson said that people had gone over his head to get the project approved. Had Gordon been the one who had allowed the scope creep to happen – or had he even encouraged it?

Mark cleared his throat. “Well, as you know sir, the brief called for only a small instructional pamphlet. A one-pager, really.”

“Yes, yes.” Gordon waved his hand, brushing away Mark’s words. “But that’s all water under the bridge.” He opened the heavy volume. Mark could see the corners of hundreds of yellow sticky notes peeking out from the pages.

“What I’m more concerned about,” said Gordon, “are the large number of, uh, errors and inaccuracies.”

“Errors, sir?”

Gordon flipped past the first few pages until he reached the first yellow sticky note. He stabbed his finger onto a paragraph at the top of the page. “Look at this,” he said, turning the book sideways so Mark could read it with him. “It says here that Peter created everything known on this planet in just seven days.”

“So?”

“So, I was a part of that project,” Gordon huffed. “And thanks to Peter’s incompetence, it took us nearly a year to complete, and he was way over budget besides.”

Gordon slammed the book shut. “You’re not the only one around here who would like a little recognition for his hard work, Mark.”

He threaded his fingers into a steeple once again. “I figure as long as we have to hand-write the entire book anyway, we might as well make a few amendments while we’re at it.”

Mark stared at him. “But sir, I was told this text had already been approved.” He raised his eyes meaningfully towards the ceiling. “Right up to the very top.”

“Exactly,” Gordon replied. “And since the record will show it’s simply being copied out long-hand, no one is going to bother resending the thing back for another round of approvals. We can make the corrections, and no one will be the wiser that the content has been altered.”

Gordon leaned across the table and grasped Mark by the forearm. “Mark, I realize you got special permission to create this instructional pamphlet because your Earth AZY-2 humans are looking very promising. But this is just one Earth among thousands and thousands under our human evolution research. What possible harm can a little editing do in the grand scheme of things? By adding just a few necessary modifications to this document, you’ll help your humans to understand it better. They’ll thrive, and we’ll thrive too, getting the credit and recognition for a HEAVEN project that we so well deserve.”

Mark’s mouth had gone dry. He swallowed hard, but it didn’t help. “I wonder if I could have a cup of that coffee, sir?”

“Of course!” Gordon strode over to the steaming carafe. “Cream and a small teaspoon of sugar, right?”

“Please.” He was surprised Gordon knew what he took in his coffee.

Gordon set the cup in front of Mark with a flourish. “So? How about it then?”

Mark took a sip of the coffee, burning his tongue. He blew on it and took another sip. “What sort of modifications are you proposing?”

Gordon flipped the book open again. He picked up a red pen from his desk organizer and a booklet of sticky notes, and handed them to Mark.

“Run the document down to Marketing Communications and tell them that everywhere it says Peter did something, to replace it with Gordon in. No, no, wait! Make it Gord.” He grinned at Mark. “Gord makes me sound like more of a people person.”

“I don’t know,” Mark hesitated. “I’m not sure I feel comfortable doing this.”

Gordon flopped back into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine! I’ll be certain to note your inability to be a team player on your next performance review. And by the way, how’s it going being a single parent these days? Your daughter – what’s her name, Aster? – must be dreaming of going to college soon. Too bad you won’t be able to pay the tuition on your current salary.”

“But sir!” Mark pleaded. “What if we get caught?”

Mark didn’t like to break the rules. On the rare occasion that he was tempted, he heard his father’s words regarding The Peanut Butter Rule. If stick your hand in peanut butter, Mark, there will be a mess. When Mark got older, he figured out his dad wasn’t really referring to peanut butter, but something else.

“Mark! Trust me on this one. There’s only one copy of the book and it’s already gone through approvals.”

Gordon walked around the desk and stood behind Mark, placing his hands tightly on Mark’s shoulders. It reminded Mark of a rabbit he’d seen once, scooped up by the scruff of its neck by the long talons of a hawk.

“Look, all we’re doing is setting the record straight. I really did do ninety per cent of the work on Peter’s planet. You don’t want your book going out full of mistakes, do you?”

“I…I suppose not.”

“And if we don’t make those corrections, then Peter is just going to keep getting promoted higher up the line, and I can tell you, he’s already working past his level of competency. You don’t want someone who’s incompetent put in charge of such important projects dealing with helpless, innocent human beings, do you?”

“No, no, of course not,” said Mark. He felt flushed and confused. The right thing to do was no longer black and white, but stippled with shades of grey.

“Atta boy!” Gordon said, slapping him on the back.

“Wait, I didn’t say...”

“I knew I could count on you. And I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you to get that promotion you so richly deserve. Think about how happy Aster will be. Think how better off your humans will be. It’s a win-win-win situation all around.”

“It all seems to make sense the way you describe it, sir,” Mark began, “but still I…”

“Of course it makes sense!” Gordon pulled the thick tome off the desk and thrust it into Mark’s hands. “Now you run over to the Communications Department and get them started on the project. Hurry up now. They’re expecting you.”

There was no other choice. Mark glumly accepted the book and hurried out the door as instructed. Perhaps he was worrying too much, he thought. If Gordon got his rightful due, and he got his promotion, and Aster got in to the college of her choice, and Peter was prevented from being promoted beyond his capabilities, well, what could be the harm in that?