Personal Demons

WAGE SLAVES

The office block blotted out the night sky above Canary Wharf. Walls of polished black glass absorbed all reflections, turning the building into a black hole, inhuman and infinite. The surrounding streets were deserted. At this time of night a single window was still illuminated, on the 35th floor.

Leonard Clark was in his office studying a document. He was a lifer, heavy, balding, gym-fit, a workaholic whose calculated responses and unflinching stares made others nervous. His office was clinically corporate. The only touches of humanity were a framed photograph of a lost-looking wife and a signed cricket bat – a quota-achievement trophy – mounted on the wall.

Matthew Felix knocked and entered. Another executive, but one with an attitude as yet unhardened by the vicissitudes of business life.

'Ah, Mr Felix. I've just finished checking your report. Take a pew.'

The younger man seated himself and awaited Clark's verdict. 'The style is sharp, succinct,' noted his boss. 'It's very impressive. Very impressive.' He paced about, studying the document while Felix fidgeted, unnerved by the rare praise.

'Thorough, that's the word. And not afraid to be critical. That's good. It shows integrity.' Felix grew increasingly uncomfortable as Clark paced behind him. 'How long did this take you?'

'Three days. Well. Days and nights.'

'It's paid off. It really has. There's just one thing that bothers me. A silly thing. It's this, here.' He held the document close to Felix's face. Too close. 'Receipt. I before E except after C. But you get it wrong every time. Every single time. Look. Receipt. Receipt. Receipt. Receipt.'

Clark carefully removed his prized cricket bat from the wall, giving it a few test swings. 'A foolish, tiny, minuscule mistake. Ruining everything.'

He took a sudden high swing with the bat. The massive connecting crack against the back of Felix's skull knocked him clean out of his swivel chair, sprawling him face down on the carpet-tiles. Clark examined his unconscious subordinate, then dragged him out of the office by the lapels of his suit. 'There's simply no excuse for shoddy workmanship these days,' he reflected.

Imagine an incredibly complex computer program, a physical structure, skeletal at first, then gaining a dense musculature of electronic cabling, pipework and floors and finally, an exterior skin. A monolithic mirrored cathedral, towering over the city horizon. Below the postmodern fripperies of its entrance, down in the railway station at its base, a train discharged its next batch of commuters. They marched along the platform in regiments, financial warriors heading into fresh battle.

Ben Harper's tie was knotted too tightly. He tried to loosen the knot as he marched with the crowd. Feeling something sticking in his neck, he pulled a pin from the collar of his brand-new shirt. He had yet to notice the price sticker still on his briefcase. He checked his watch and glanced up at the sombre building, its windows darkening as clouds passed.

Ben had the hopelessly innocent face of a young man on his first day in a new job. He watched the other commuters for his cues, swallowing nervously and wondering why he had ever lied in the first place. Then he crossed the half-finished road to the Symax building and entered its pristine foyer.

The Olympian marble hall appeared to have been designed by Albert Speer. A cleaner shadowed Ben, carefully wiping away his wet footprints, removing all human spoor. To access the elevator he had to collect an electronic tag from the commissionaire, who punched in its encoded number. The guards looked like American police officers. Video monitors checked his progress as the lift arrived and he entered.

'Hold the doors!' An attractive young woman slipped into the elevator and smiled at Ben. She stood on one leg and removed her shoe, then belted the base of the door with the heel. The door juddered and shut. 'There's something weird with the electrics,' she explained. 'I should keep a hammer in my handbag.' She put the shoe back on.

Ben watched her, fascinated, until the doors opened on the 35th floor.

The reception area was a gleaming shrine to the work ethic, part space station, part rainforest. A large chromium sign read: SYMAX. The Future Is Now. Beyond this a bank of TV screens showed corporate videos; images of wheatfields, dolphins and sunsets. The robotic blonde behind the desk noted Ben's colour-coded badge. 'Oh, new boy. I'll call someone.'

He watched one of the corporate videos. An avuncular voice intoned something about 'the first generation of environments that work for you. A Symax building is an infinitely adaptable stress-free workspace. Light, heat and climate are monitored by sensors that control your staff's constantly changing needs. One day all offices will be this way, because at Symax the future is here to stay.'

'Mr Harper.' A corporate-looking woman in her early thirties held out her hand. 'Diana Carter. We met briefly at your interview. If you'd care to follow me.'

She led Ben through the swing doors, past rows of extreme-technology work stations. The sky dominated, framed in the floor-to-ceiling windows. It gave the area a feeling of peace, as though they were on the deck of a liner coasting its way through the clouds. Staffers had customised their work spaces in odd ways, as if trying to make them cosier and less efficient-looking. All sound was absorbed but for the clicking of keyboards.

'There's been a personnel change since we spoke,' explained Carter. 'Mr Felix left us rather suddenly. The PR department isn't fully functional yet. Things are a little crazy.' She handed him a manual. 'Company bible. Read and believe. This desk was supposed to have been cleared. Mr Temple wanted to welcome you but he's not himself today. None of us are.' She gave a brief bleak smile and whizzed off, leaving Ben at his work station.

The girl from the lift was at the next desk. She looked over and smiled, appraising him. Feeling spied upon, Ben attempted to look efficient. Unfortunately, he couldn't find the switch to activate his terminal. Perhaps it needed a key or something. He checked the desk drawers. The first one contained a pair of damp socks, a bottle of painkillers and a hunting knife.

His watch had stopped. His chair-back appeared to be broken. He tried to fire up the computer again, to no avail. He studied other people for tips and got none. Amused, the girl finally came over. 'Try the button at the front.'

Ben sheepishly pressed it. The screen came on, but nothing else did.

'You've never used one of these before, have you?'

'I'm not familiar with this, uh, make,' said Ben.

She reached over and booted up the system for him. 'What are you doing here?'

He shifted awkwardly. 'I'm the new PR assistant to Mr Clark – '

'I don't see how. You obviously have no experience.'

'I've had dozens of corporate jobs.'

'Then go ahead and set your voicemail.' She sat back, amused. 'You can fool them but not me. You've never worked in a place like this before, have you?'

Ben was flustered. 'I thought I'd get a bit further before being found out. It's only ten past nine.'

'I won't tell anyone.' She held out her hand. 'Marie Vine. Let's cut a deal. Tell me what you're doing here, and I'll get you through. Nobody has to know.'

There was no point in continuing to lie. 'I needed the work,' he admitted. 'So I faked my CV. I was a teacher, do you know what that pays? I'm twenty-six and sick of never having any money. I can handle this. I know about people.'

'If you know so much about people,' asked Marie, 'why did you stop teaching?'

'I got fired for organising a student picket. I get too involved. This will be better for me, more – impersonal. It's just press releases. How hard can it be?'

She brought her lips close to his ear. 'Here's something for you to think about. This is the most advanced work environment in the world. Yet it gives a job to a little red school-teacher with a faked CV. What does that tell you?'

At noon, Carter reappeared to take Ben on a tour of the floor. 'Over there,' she pointed to a thin man in a tight grey suit, 'that's Mr Swan.' Swan's posture was birdlike and vaguely irritating. He slowly craned forward. 'If there's anything in the company manual that doesn't leap out at you, feel free to give me a tinkle.'

'Over there, Mr Carmichael.' Ben nodded to each of the staff in turn, but people were too busy to take much notice. 'Lucy, your shared PA. Paula, word processing.' They passed another office. The huge shape of an arguing man could be seen through the glass. 'Mr Clark, the new department head.'

Marie passed with a sheaf of papers and interrupted in a manner that seemed to annoy Carter. 'Mr Felix was in line for the position, but he's gone,' she explained. 'Vanished like a summer rain.'

'Mr Temple is the managing director, as you know, but he's not often here,' said Carter. 'He lives on the floor above -'

' – but seeing him is like getting an appointment with the Wizard of Oz,' Marie cut in. 'Oh well, better get back to work. We're all on Candid Camera, you know. They record everything, and they're everywhere. Even in the toilets.'

'I suppose Symax needs good security if it's developing systems no-one else has,' Ben replied.

'Exactly so, Mr Harper,' agreed Carter. Marie was disappointed that Ben had chosen to side with the management. Ahead, a crowd was gathering around one of the refreshment stations.

'It's happening again!' called one of the office boys. People were watching a half-filled water cooler that was emitting an ominous rumbling sound. The water inside swirled around in an impossible whirlpool, climbing the sides of the plastic jar. It whirled faster and faster, and suddenly the jar ruptured, spraying water everywhere. The secretaries squealed and jumped back.

Ben turned to Carter but found her place taken by Marie. 'A bug in the system,' she explained. 'Look, my little bogus friend, I know it's your first day but I'd like to speak frankly with you. You confided in me. Not here, though. The walls have ears and eyes. You have to be careful who you talk to. Over lunch.'

They crossed an acre of grey marble floor to the restaurant, passing a pair of security guards with vicious-looking guns in their belts. 'Private security firm,' noted Marie. 'Those things on their belts are tasors.'

'Is that legal?'

'This place is beyond the jurisdiction of the police,' she explained. In the restaurant there were vegetarian dishes, roasting chickens, trays of ham and beef. They shared a quiet table away from the chatter-filled main section.

'Three weeks ago Matthew Felix walked out of here and never even came back to collect his belongings,' she explained, talking through a mouthful of chicken. 'His car's still in its usual parking space under the building, but he's gone. He was my friend. And your predecessor.'

'What can I do?' Ben shrugged helplessly. 'I just got here.'

'The secretaries are always off sick. They say there's something in the air that makes you ill. At this height the windows can't be opened because of the winds. Then there are the phone lines. They randomly switch themselves around, like they've got poltergeists or something.'

'It's my first day,' he pleaded.

'The staff can sense that there's something wrong even if the management can't, but no-one – NO-ONE – is willing to talk about it.'

'This suit is brand new, Marie. And the tie.'

'I'm trying to find someone who's not just a management sheep.'

'I'm not a sheep!' Ben protested. 'I've been in the business world for four hours! Management must be able to do something. Temple, he's the boss-man.'

Marie speared a piece of asparagus. 'He won't see me. I've already had two official cautions from Clark. One more and I'll lose my job. They all think I like to stir things up.'

Ben grew more exasperated. 'I should stay away from you. I fought hard for this job and I'd really like to keep it.'

'It's not like I'm asking you to do anything illegal, just keep your eyes and ears open, and tell me if you notice anything strange. Do it before the place gets to you and you become like the rest of them.'

Ben lowered his fork. 'Which is what?'

'You know. Corporate.'

'What's wrong with that?'

'You're an individual.'

He thought for a moment. 'Maybe I don't want to be.'

Marie rose to leave. She was frustrated by Ben's attitude. 'Maybe you don't. But I think Matthew Felix is dead. The police found his cat half-starved. Maybe he had a heart attack and it was stress-related so they quietly took him away. Somebody here knows more than they're telling. For God's sake, look at them!'

'Why would they hide something like that?'

'This is a new company. Maybe they're scared of bad publicity. Oh, forget it. Just forget I said anything.' Ben watched helplessly as she rose from the table and left. He looked out of the window at the power lines which passed close to the glass. He could hear their eerie hum beneath the moaning wind. There were dead pigeons all along the window ledge, neatly aligned in a row. He thought, I've entered the Twilight Zone.

Aided by a bank of video monitors running interactive graphic devices, Clark was giving a talk to a group of potential Symax investors. Ben found a chair and watched his new boss in action.

'This is the first fully operational smart building in the United Kingdom. Created by computer to minimise employee error and maximise profit potential.' On the screens behind, Ben could see diagrams of the building's nerve centre, the antiseptic, unmanned sensor room filled with gauges and cylinders. 'A Symax building is designed for every temperature, atmosphere and movement change. In a non-smart building, company staff have to find a way of fitting around the architecture. Symax systems learn from staff habits and adapt to create a unique environment for each company.'

As the meeting ended, Clark walked with the leader of the group, Ben following alongside, listening in.

'I want New York to see this,' said the client. 'I'll need a full presentation on Friday. Can you handle it?'

'I have no problem with that at all,' Clark replied, seeing him into the lift. After the doors had shut, he eyed Ben suspiciously. 'You heard him. Four days to the biggest presentation we've ever had. This place is going to be jumping, and you with it.'

Dusk brought a lurid red glow to the windows, which automatically darkened to reduce the glare. Ben attempted to set up a stack of books on his desk, which appeared to be perfectly level, but each time he balanced them they shifted and fell over. He took a marble from his drawer and set it on the white melamine desktop. The little glass ball rolled first one way, then abruptly another. He tapped his teeth with a pencil and looked back at Marie, thinking. Nothing made sense here. Was that normal in the world of big business? He knew he shouldn't get involved, that it would only lead to trouble, but decided to talk to Swan anyway.

'My predecessor seems to have left very suddenly,' he prompted.

'Mr Clark fired him,' Swan explained. 'They had a terrible row.'

'What about?'

'I don't know. Work, I suppose. They didn't get on.'

'I thought everyone got on here. Isn't that the point?'

'In theory, yes. Did you ever hear of a theory that fully worked in practice? Thought you might like a copy of this. More useful than the office bible.'

Ben accepted the proferred pamphlet and turned it over in his hands. It bore the title GOD IN THE WORKPLACE.

'Er, thanks.'

Swan pointed to the small gold crucifix he wore over his tie. 'The devil and his works are all around us, Mr Harper. Better safe than sorry.'

That night, as everyone worked late, an exhausted secretary swept into the office of her supervisor, Mr Meadows, and dumped a stack of papers on to his overflowing desk. The executive argued into his headset while signing papers and returning them: 'I know it was late because I checked with security, and if it doesn't reach me in time my client won't pay so we all get shafted. Well, fuck-you-very-much but an apology isn't recognisable in fiscal terms – you're hovering, what is it?'

'Accounts on 2,' said the secretary. 'Wife on 3 and Mr Clark on the internal.'

'I'll call them all back. Close the door, Norma – close it.'

She reluctantly left, pulling the door shut behind her. Meadows kicked back, yanking off the headset and thumbing the remote on his stereo unit. Classical music began playing, Smetana's Libuse, the volume increasing. He stared at the phone, still trilling, and suddenly yanked it out of the wall. Then he shook the buzz from his ears, locked the door and returned to his desk, slipping off his jacket, removing his tie, kicking off his shoes and unbuckling his trouser belt.

Outside the office, two secretaries noticed him through the glass and started to giggle. Meadows continued to strip until he was completely naked. A crowd gathered as he stood at the picture window behind his desk. Everyone yelled when he raised his chair and hurled it through the glass. They hammered at the locked door as Meadows climbed over the broken shards on to the ledge.

He raised his arms high. It was a hell of a drop. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he executed a graceful swan dive out over the glittering city. The office door caved in seconds too late. The secretary screamed. Bouyed by the crosswinds, Meadows fell slowly through the starry sky – fell and fell – and laughed, until he smashed thunderously through the glass canopy of the station roof amid hordes of homegoing commuters.

Ben pulled open the glass doors. Far above him in the sensor room, electronic dials registered the change in temperature and compensated for the sudden fall with a boost. In the reception area, the screens continued to run endless plugs for Symax. Already the words sounded repetitive and hollow. The receptionist was holding her head in her hands. It looked like a bad start to Tuesday.

'You okay?' asked Ben as he passed.

'The monitors are giving me a headache,' the receptionist replied.

As Ben reached his work station he could see staff members discussing something very intently. The broken glass in front of Meadows' office was being swept up, the area sealed off.

'What happened here?'

'Just after you left last night, Mr Meadows went for a walk outside the building and missed his train. By about three feet,' Marie explained. 'Thirty-five floors. They scraped him off the tarmac like a dab of strawberry jam. The police are still looking for his teeth.'

'He must have been – really stressed out.'

'That's an understatement. They're sending people to counsellors. Perhaps now you'll believe me. I have to talk to you.'

'Not again.'

'Remember, I know your little secret.'

Reluctantly, Ben followed her away from the steady gaze of the cameras to the stairwell, and then up four flights of stairs to one of the deserted floors. Heat dials and movement recorders flickered as they crossed the grey carpet tiles. 'They haven't sold this floor yet. No-one can hear or see us.'

Ben felt guilty. 'We shouldn't even be here.' He paused and looked down at his shoes. Dozens of tiny dead insects were arranged in neat curving rows across the floor.

'I need to trust someone,' said Marie. 'I don't want to spoil your chances with the company. I mean – look at you. All freshly scrubbed and innocent.'

'Matthew Felix didn't go missing, he got fired.'

'Nobody knows that for sure. I was due to meet him that night, but he never showed up.'

'Did you talk to the police?'

'They said they'd let me know if they heard anything. It's not like I'm a relative. I'm sure something terrible has happened to him. You're new, you could ask around.' The big appealing eyes swayed him. 'Please?'

Mr Carmichael was a fussy time-server most people avoided, and today he had an appalling head-cold. 'Of course he was stressed,' he told Ben, 'he'd just had a terrible argument with Clark. I don't know where he went, nobody knows. I liked him, he was a nice man. Punctual. I liked Meadows, too. Never thought he'd do something like that. They say it's always the quiet ones, but Meadows… Mind you, everyone else hated his guts.'

In the ceiling corners, gleaming cameras recorded all movement as the air-mixers raised and lowered their pitch. Ben tapped the pencil on his teeth, trying to work it out. Worry made people overdose on sleeping pills, but what could make you hurl yourself to your death? Rainclouds the colour of drain-water rolled past the windows. He looked over at Marie's work station. She briefly glanced up and gave him an absent, tired smile.

'Want to go for a drink tonight?'

'By the time I'm through there won't be anywhere open. Besides, we shouldn't be seen together. Office fraternising is discouraged.'

Her changes of mood were unpredictable. The day passed at a crawl. Ben concentrated on drafting the press releases Carter had outlined to him. When he left the building that night, the thousand storm-streaked panes that looked down on him seemed far more sinister than they had yesterday morning.

Clark had been summoned to the director's office, an elegant low-lit suite that was more like a private apartment. Inside, the greying, debonair Temple was checking his watch impatiently, ready to leave.

'I hear the police were trying to get in again, Leonard. This is getting to be a habit.'

'I've told them this is private property,' said Clark, 'that we have our own security force.'

'We're still subject to the laws of the land. Anyone know why Meadows did it?'

'I've asked around. He seemed fine, a little hyper, but so is everyone else with this presentation looming…'

'It's not a wonderful advert for a stress-free environment, is it?'

'An unfortunate coincidence. And now these rumours…'

'You're saying we have – grumblers?' Temple made the word sound sinister. 'If we do, keep an eye on them, report back to me. New York is the big one, the make or break contract. Nothing must jeopardise that. Do you understand? This is more than war. This is business.'

In the reception area of the 35th floor, the monitors were still spewing out their 'Peace and Harmony' sales pitch. Ben passed two managers who were shouting at each other, and another dropping papers everywhere who looked like she'd been up all night.

Lucy, his PA, startled him. 'Can cellular phones give you cancer?' she asked.

'I don't know,' Ben answered. 'Why?'

'I get these headaches all the time. Can you get cancer of the head?'

'Have you seen the company doctor?'

'He thinks I'm faking. Maybe it's these things.' She tapped his monitor.

'Tell me something, Lucy. What was Mr Felix like?'

'Really cute. She soon got her claws into him.' She pointed at Marie's chair.

'Before he left, did he seem strange to you in any way?'

'Not strange. Angry. He'd had an argument with Mr Clark.'

'They didn't get along?'

'Mr Clark hated him. He hates everyone. He already hates you.'

Later that morning, Ben attempted to requisition a file from a harassed Human Resources Officer. 'I told you,' insisted the officer, 'you can't see Mr Felix's medical history without proper authorisation.'

'What about absenteeism?' asked Ben. 'Does Symax have many people off sick?'

'What do you expect? Germs travel through the heating system. There are a few repetitive strain injuries. Always more when we're busy. There's a flu virus decimating the place. All companies get them, but this is particularly bad. We've a bigger health problem, but it doesn't make any sense.'

'What do you mean?'

'Hard to explain.' The officer pulled a pen from her hair and scrubbed something out on a form. 'I don't have any figures. Deadlines produce stress, which increases blood pressure, causes headaches, heartburn, sleep disorders… standard stuff. But there's an instability here. People overreact, flare up, lose their tempers, burst into tears. It's something peculiar to this building. You know the hand dryers in the toilets? They're supposed to be more hygienic. They're not. They incubate bacteria. You can get pneumonia from them. Nobody really knows what's good for you. Or what's harmful. And my clock's running backwards.'

Ben was momentarily thrown. 'Sorry?'

'My computer clock. They shouldn't do that, should they? Run backwards?'

'Could you give me a print-out of the sickness figures?'

'It's against regulations. Haven't you read your manual? Head office don't like it.'

Ben fooled around with his computer, but any management files of importance were sealed with passwords. He tried different keys of his own devising, but nothing worked. He watched Marie at her desk. Knowing she could be seen, she crossed her long legs and gave him a sexy look. He drew a heart on a piece of paper and folded it into an airplane. Throwing it in her direction, he was dismayed to see it sucked into the air-conditioning unit that sat between them. The sun suddenly broke through the clouds, causing the photo-sensitised windows to compensate for the changing light density and darken, while the illuminated ceiling panels grew perversely brighter to compensate for the windows.

Ben despairingly studied his monitor, typing slowly, but his attention drifted to Felix's belongings. Rechecking the desk he felt something, a flat square stuck at the back of the bottom drawer. The computer disk was labelled Property of Matthew Felix. He pocketed it just as Clark appeared beside him.

'You never seem to be doing any work, Harper.'

'I was – going to ask your advice on the press releases,' said Ben. 'I take it we gloss over Mr Meadows' first diving lesson?'

Clark glowered at him. 'I don't like you, Harper. Why is that?'

'You haven't tried my cooking yet?'

'Just do your job and I won't have cause to lose my temper.'

Marie helped Ben load the disk after Clark had moved on. 'You'll need the password,' she warned. 'Everyone is expected to enter and remember their own five-letter code.'

'Didn't he tell you what his was?' asked Ben. 'I mean, you were friends.'

'I liked him, but I didn't exactly get inside his mind. Besides, we aren't supposed to tell each other things like that.'

'Then maybe he kept it written down somewhere. You okay?'

'It's nothing, just a headache. We'll have to keep looking.'

He studied Felix's belongings again, trying to make sense of it all. In a travelbag beneath the desk he found a dog-eared book of horoscopes. 'You'd think the police would have taken his belongings away.'

'They never came up here. Our security firm wouldn't let them.'

'What birth-sign was Felix?' he asked Marie.

'Gemini, I think.'

He flicked through the horoscope book to Gemini, and found a drawing of Janus. The Twin-Faced Guardian Of Doorways, Entrances And Beginnings, read the asterisked caption. He typed in 'Janus' and pressed ENTER. The disk started to open its files, but as quickly as it did, the contents corrupted. Damn the magnetics in this place…

One newspaper clipping was legible before the screen contents vanished. A photograph of the building captioned Father of 'smart' architecture commits suicide. Then the item dispersed into the ether.

'Maybe he realised something was wrong with the building and killed himself,' suggested Marie.

'Maybe somebody else realised something was wrong and shut him up.' They exchanged alarmed looks.

Swan suddenly appeared beside them, looking pleased with himself. 'Want to see something really strange?' he asked. Before they could reply, he unclipped the steel biro he kept in his jacket pocket and slapped it against the wall above Ben's desk. When he removed his hand, the pen stayed there by itself. 'Some days the whole blessed place is magnetised.'

'We need your help,' said Ben. 'Who designed this building?'

'That kind of information isn't available any more,' Swan complained. 'I'd be breaking company rules. Punishable by instant dismissal.'

'Who's going to know?'

'In an environment with total information control? Are you nuts? Look, it's not a good idea to get too involved with the work. You could lose your job, your credit rating, who knows what else. Those cameras up there probably lipread.'

'You're being paranoid.'

'You're right,' agreed Swan. 'That's good. It's healthy to be paranoid.'

The sun set beyond the vast windows as Paula, the typist, put down her coffee and slopped some of it on to her desk. Tutting with annoyance, she dug out a paper towel and started mopping up the mess. At her feet, one of the recessed floor plugs emitted sparks. Just beyond her field of vision, a wall circuit was scorching a live path to her computer, tiny white flashes jumping across the keyboard. The spilt coffee reached her mouse just as she mopped it. The resulting electric shock threw her across the room.

Several people saw the burning lines shortcircuiting in the walls, passing from one computer to the next, rendering each one live. 'Where's the mains switch?' someone shouted. 'Keep away from the machines!' Others just looked confused. Nobody moved.

But everyone stared at Ben as he stormed into Diana Carter's office. Carter was on the phone, and not pleased by the interruption. 'A girl just got electrocuted and everyone's carrying on as if nothing happened!' he shouted, pointing through the glass. 'Look at them!' The workforce was busily going about its business. 'This is gross negligence. There's something wrong with the electrics. We had to unplug the terminals.'

She eyed his dirty knees. 'Everyone is working very hard here, Harper. It's bad enough that half of my girls are off sick without you causing trouble. You're not allowed to tamper with the machines. It's against company policy.'

'We'll see about that,' said Ben, slamming out.

'One of my staff members, Mr Swan, brought the matter to my attention,' said Clark. 'He overheard Harper telling someone he'd lied his way into the job.'

'Christ, don't you think I have enough to worry about without this?' demanded Temple. 'We're taking orders from all over the world and yet our figures are down. How is that possible? The efficiency of our workforce is plunging. Inside the world's most efficient building. What the hell is going wrong? And now you tell me we have some kind o€ a spy in our midst. Well, you'll have to deal with it. Nothing can screw up this presentation.'

The small chipboard door opened in the basement wall and a troll-like man of around sixty looked out. Snowy bristles sprouted from his eyebrows, nose and ears. 'I haven't seen you before,' said Hegarty, the caretaker, in a high, strangled voice. 'What are you?'

'Who am I?' asked Ben.

'No,' said Hegarty laboriously, 'what are you? Are you a drone or an executive?'

'Oh. Well, I've only just started.'

'Unsullied, eh? You'd better come in, then. Name?'

'Ben Harper.'

'Oh, the troublemaker. I've read the e-mail on you. How did you find me?'

'Oddly enough,' said Ben, 'I thought of the Wizard of Oz. The man behind the curtain operating the levers. Why would this building need a caretaker?'

'Well of course it doesn't, but they couldn't think of another job title for me.' Hegarty's hut was as cluttered as an allotment shed. The caretaker boiled tea. 'All buildings will be like this soon,' he said. 'Self-regulating. Auto-balanced. Remote-logic. If you break wind it'll spray Atar of Roses over you. Sugar?'

'One please. You sound as if you don't approve.'

'You hear anybody say what a great place this is to work? I thought not. Know why? It's no good.'

Ben accepted a cracked, murky brown mug, eyeing it dubiously. 'There are bound to be teething problems.'

'Listen to me: It's no good. The wind changes, the building shifts, the compensation mechanism causes all kinds of leaks. For every action, a reaction. The bigger the action, the bigger the reaction. They haven't allowed for that. Old buildings are lived in, cherished. This one changes people. Causes breakdowns.'

'I'm not sure I understand.'

The caretaker sighed impatiently. 'A building is not just a box made out of bricks. It's organic. Shaped by the needs of the people within. This building responds. People cause disorder, no matter how well controlled they are. The Symax system is responding to human chaos with counterbalancing chaos. Action, reaction. People break down – what happens to buildings?'

'You think it's already started happening?'

'You tell me. People are jumping out of windows. Did you know there are live spots all over the building? Come over here.' He pointed to a narrow air-shaft, cocking his head to one side. Voices carried from somewhere far above. 'You can hear them quite clearly, yet there must be thirty floors between us. Odd, isn't it? There's a gap in the centre courtyard where tiny magnetic tornadoes form. Why? Buildings are like women. Each one has a special mystique.'

'Why did the architect kill himself?'

'Ah, you know about that. Well, fair enough. Carrington Rogers was my partner. This building wasn't really his, of course. Computers designed it for Symax. Optimised his sketches. Wasn't much left of the original plans. He knew it would go wrong, even warned them, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. By that time he'd taken the money, you see. There was no other way out for him. His suicide, my breakdown, the end of all our dreams. I came to work here so I could keep an eye on the place, keep the bosses' secrets safe for them.'

'Do you still have the plans?'

'Yes, but they're all classified. In case of industrial sabotage.' He reached into a battered grey steel filing cabinet and withdrew an amorphous mass of documentation. Maps that consisted of curving dotted lines. Scrawled notes. Clipped articles on the architect and his plans for Symax. He splayed the huge drafting papers across the table. 'I shouldn't be showing them to you, but – ' he smiled, his beady eyes glittering ' – into every ordered system prances the imp of chaos. What do you know about electromagnetic fields?'

Grinning, the old man set a metal company biro on the concrete floor and watched as it started to spin, faster and faster. Finally it shot across the room and embedded itself into the skirting board. At the same time Ben could feel his hair lifting and prickling. He remembered the insects lined in rows at his feet.

'No wonder my watch stopped.'

'It's a vortex, a turbulent area where opposing electromagnetic fields overlap. A modern office building is filled with electrical fields. Every machine you use provides its own forcefield. The only reason why they don't cause havoc is because they're shielded. They have to be. Electromagnetic forces affect brain patterns. In moments of stress they can cause someone's least stable traits to surface violently. Nobody knows the full effects of unshielded mag-force. Symptoms are everything from stress-related stuff like headaches, to terminal disease. Cancer patients have been suing cellular phone companies lately. It's now thought that overhead cables may cause leukaemia.'

'But if these machines are all shielded, how can they cause any harm?'

'I think something must have upset the system's balance.'

'Surely they'll have to evacuate the building until the problem's located?'

'That won't be enough,' said Hegarty. 'Look at this.' He dug out a dusty diskette and pushed it into an ancient terminal hidden behind tea towels. The screen quickly filled with typewritten newspaper files.

'People's Architect' to initiate designs for 'ultimate human environment.'

'Architect warns of hidden dangers in computer-assisted designs.'

'Unshielded electrical fields cause massive electro-turbulence, says top architect.'

'The board of directors know there's a problem, but they have no answers. All they can do is bury their heads in the sand and act like nothing's wrong. These systems are on the verge of being sold across the world. Rogers was concerned that the use of so much electronic equipment might have an effect on human occupants. When the computers "enhanced" his designs, he was worried that they would allow for human error, but not human nature. People are perverse. You try to streamline them and they develop odd behavioural quirks. The computers made improvements which were, by themselves, acceptable. Except that they completely changed the building's electro-radiation levels.'

'Surely someone checked for this sort of thing?'

'Computers checked. Their programs change the pressure, the temperature, the chemical composition of the air, calming when the atmosphere is charged, energising when things are too relaxed. But you can't program people. Every time the computer reacts, they react back and the whole thing escalates. The result is a potential madhouse. And the more electronic equipment that's turned on, the more devastating the effect.'

'But if the building's so dangerous,' asked Ben, 'why aren't we all affected?'

'We are,' replied Hegarty, tapping the side of his head. 'We don't all feel it yet.'

On Wednesday the weather worsened. The wet workforce shook out their umbrellas and entered the building ready for their toughest day. Ben wondered how much longer he could get away with not doing his work, but people were too preoccupied to notice. He sat and shuffled papers, trying to look busy.

'Clark's making everyone go through the night,' said Marie. Behind her, the wall lights glowed like waxing moons as the sensors adjusted to the displacement and warmth and movement of stressed-out humanity. The recycled air smelled musty and bitter. By mid-morning everyone was operating at the double. Phones rang, screens flashed, staff swept past in a frenzy of hyperactivity. The sense of collective unease was palpable.

He had been aware of the humming for some time now, a dull rumble that vibrated in his bones. The very air was shimmering. A maelstrom of electromagnetic activity, caused by every damned machine in the place operating at full capacity. Marie had gone missing. He'd only left his desk for a moment. He checked all the work stations calling her name, and missed her as she passed him heading toward the elevator banks.

Marie stepped into the lift and pressed a lower floor button just as Ben spotted her. The doors shut and the lift started off smoothly, but suddenly stopped. Inside, the lights began to flicker and fail. The lift walls snapped and sparkled with cobalt streaks of electromagnetic energy. Ben watched the overhead panel to see where Marie would alight. The panel indicator illuminated 34, but when he took the stairs there he found the doors shut. He held his breath and listened. Something weird was happening in the shaft.

He tried to force the doors open, but they wouldn't budge. The entire lift shaft was suddenly filled with electrical fire. There was a sharp crack as it shorted out, and the lift started moving again. Ben pulled Marie clear as the doors slammed open before him with a vicious, deafening bang.

'Where were you going?' he asked.

'I don't know.' Marie rubbed her eyes. 'I had some kind of panic attack.'

Through the open swing doors they caught sight of Clark, whose efforts to concentrate and compose himself were undermined by his left eye, which twitched uncontrollably. 'Harper,' he called, 'my office, right now.'

'Go and get your coat,' said Ben. 'Wait for me in reception. We're getting out.'

Clark ushered Ben into his office and closed the door. 'My staff are falling apart,' he complained. 'Half of them have barricaded themselves in the toilets. The rest have gone mad. It's all coming true, everything Carrington and Hegarty warned the board about.' Then, as if suddenly jabbed with a pin, he started shouting. 'Stress doesn't touch you, though, does it? Because you're not corporate material. You don't fit the profile. You lied to get the job! A teacher, fired for breeding insurrection!' He reached for the nearest telephone and punched out a number. 'Why did you come here?'

'I wanted something with potential.'

'But you've just destroyed your chances. Why would you do that?'

Ben thought for a moment. 'Human nature.'

A huge security guard filled the doorway. 'Escort this man off the premises.'

Ben was pulled from the room. Wary of the tasor strapped to the guard, he went quietly. As they reached the lift he broke into a run, the guard following close on his heels. Suddenly they were confronted by a demented-looking Swan, who forced his way between Ben and the guard. 'Been up to see the boss, have we? Reporting back on the workers? Everything was all right 'til you got here.'

'I've no quarrel with you.'

'So innocent. How do you know what it's like to keep having your quotas raised, to still be working long after your children are in bed?' He furiously poked Ben in the chest. Ben pushed him on to the guard, who immediately grabbed Swan by the tie. As this happened, Ben pulled the tasor from the guard's pocket and fired it, dropping him to his knees like a felled bull.

Swan's eyes widened in surprise. He smoothed his tie into place. 'That's more like it,' he said. 'A little respect for a decent Christian. All hail the Lord.'

The guard's jacket was smoking. 'Christ,' said Ben, dropping the tasor.

Swan turned on him. 'Blasphemer!'

This is not going to look good on my CV thought Ben as he kneed Swan in the testicles and pushed him down the stairs.

The 35th floor was devoid of life. Somewhere in the distance were screams, moaning, the sound of breaking glass. The monitors droned on in the reception area, but the tape of sunsets and dolphins was slurred and distorted. The receptionist was sitting on the floor with her legs straight out, nursing her head like a character from a Laurel and Hardy film. Marie ran to her work station and collected her coat. She tried to telephone the police, but watched on her display unit as the call was diverted to a dead line. She punched out a 9, then 100. 'Hello, operator, I'm trying to get connected to the police. Why can't you? I know we're not under police jurisdiction, that's because the company has its own security services, but surely a 999 call is still – well, yes, it is an emergency.'

She cradled the receiver under her ear, looking around.

Lucy had set fire to a wastepaper bin and was standing on a chair holding it near the ceiling, trying to set off the sprinkler system. One of the other typists was seated at her keyboard printing out hundreds of pages of Z's. Carmichael had over a dozen biros protruding from his back, and lay sprawled on the floor beneath his desk. Everyone else had fled to darker corners.

Clark wandered about his office clutching his face. The muffled cries and scuffles emanating from the floor outside made him look up in a state of dementia.

'You killed him, didn't you?' said Marie as he hoved into her eyeline.

'Felix's report suggested delaying everything while we investigated the problem,' Clark moaned. 'The shares would have plummeted. I didn't mean to kill him. But I – get – these – headaches.'

Marie slowly replaced the receiver. 'What did you do with his body?'

'Put him in a cool place, somewhere off limits,' he replied dully. 'The sensor room.'

'My god, that's supposed to be a sterile area. You left a corpse in there with the building's sensor units?'

'I wasn't thinking too clearly. I'm better now.' The heavy executive suddenly lunged at her, and they fell back on to her desk as Marie desperately cast about for something to hit him with. Grabbing wildly behind her, she smashed a 'You Don't Have To Be Mad To Work Here But It Helps' breakfast mug over his head, which briefly dazed him.

Clark scrambled after Marie as she fought to get away. She rammed her chair at him, and while he was tipped back against the desk rubbing his head she pulled the plastic bottle from the water cooler beside her and flung it at him. From the way he suddenly grew rigid and began grinding his teeth she could only assume that her keyboard, too, was now electrified, and that he was sitting on it in wet trousers.

Marie and Ben stumbled into the building's deserted atrium and made for the main doors. They had been forced to use the stairs down, as people were making love in the lifts. Fights had broken out on every floor. 'I'm sorry I took so long to find you,' wheezed Ben, 'but a gang of bookkeepers ambushed me in Accounts.'

'The system won't let us out,' said Marie. 'These things are locked.'

'What do you mean, locked?' he said stupidly, staring at the steel deadbolts that had slid across the inch-thick tinted glass. He hurled himself against the door but it did not even vibrate under his weight.

'We'll never get out now.'

'What are you talking about? The police, fire, ambulance, emergency teams, they'll all turn up here any minute.'

'No, they won't,' shouted the elderly caretaker. Hegarty was hobbling toward them using a desk-leg as a stick. There was a thick smear of blood on one side of his head. 'The phone lines are all diverted. The entrances and exits are all sealed. The building will deal with the crisis without enlisting outside help. That's what it's designed to do.'

'So what happens now?'

'In an emergency situation – a Code Purple – the system can attempt to restore balance in the building by starting all over again.'

'And how will it do that?' asked Ben, dreading the answer.

'By sucking out all of the air, purifying the structure with scalding antiseptic spray, flash-freezing it and then slowly restoring the normal temperature. The process won't harm office hardware. Of course, it's never been used on humans.'

Ben looked up at the flashing purple square on the atrium wall and listened as the warning sirens began to whine. 'I guess now would be a bad time to ask for a salary increase,' he said as the great ceiling ventilators slowly opened.