The Backup Asset

…18

Quentin let his briefcase drop to the floor as soon as he stepped inside his home. Closing the door behind him, he kicked off his shoes and started taking off his work clothes, in a hurry to separate himself from the awful day he’d had in the office.

He lived alone. He had gone through life without feeling the need for a family, and without being tempted to commit to one. There had been relationships in his life, but he managed to keep them at arm’s length somehow, breaking a few hearts in the process. That was why no one waited for him to come home from work, but he didn’t miss that.

He skipped his traditional routine involving a shower followed by a TV dinner, and poured himself a large bourbon instead. He went straight to his home office and powered up his laptop.

He took a big gulp of the distilled spirits, enjoying the sensation it left behind as it went down. It burned his throat, then warmed his stomach, and from there, seeped relaxation in his weary muscles. He massaged his high, prominent forehead, trying to dissipate the early signs of a headache, then opened his Web browser and clicked on one of his favorite links stored among the navigation bar favorites.

The browser immediately opened a site aptly named Rat Olympics, bearing the tag line, “A Cyber Café for the White-Collar Working Wounded.” He logged in and immediately received a welcome message accompanied by a familiar chime.

Welcome, DespeRatt — the system acknowledged him.

Several other users were logged in the chat room, and Quentin typed his first message without having someone specific in mind. Most users there were regulars, familiar with one another.

DespeRatt: I’m having a terrible few days… hope it ends soon.

Another user quickly responded.

LostGirl: What’s going on?

DespeRatt: My free spirit is dying under the pressures of idiocy. Can’t stand it anymore… I caught myself trying to figure out what he wants instead of doing what’s right.

LostGirl: It can happen… it’s normal to cave under pressure at some point, we all do. Cut yourself some slack.

DespeRatt: I’m turning conflict-adverse… a fucking coward! I can’t stand it anymore! WTF am I gonna do?

JustAnnonymous: Move on, man, don’t cling to hell, or hell’ll cling to ya’.

LostGirl: Yup, that’s right. Leaving your hell will seem like the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

DespeRatt: What — and start over from scratch? Having to prove myself every day, not knowing whose ass to kiss? How’s that better?

JustAnnonymous: How many years have you been there?

DespeRatt: Almost thirteen.

JustAnnonymous: That’s your problem. You’ve become codependent, forgotten how to fight, how to get out there and hunt. Wake up!

DespeRatt: Fuck…

JustAnnonymous: I’m willing to bet you don’t even have an updated résumé.

DespeRatt: Okay, I’ll give you that, you win. I can update the damn résumé, but starting over and not being sure who’s who at the new place, etc.?

LostGirl: Stop lying to yourself… don’t you have to prove yourself every day now, to an adverse manager no less? Do you know whose ass to kiss now? I seriously doubt it, ’cause if you did, you wouldn’t be in this bind.

DespeRatt: Point taken. Arghhh… LostGirl, you have no mercy.

LostGirl: Oh, but I do… I’m trying to set you free, dear Ratt.

DespeRatt: True. Thank you for your brutal yet kind help.

LostGirl: Repeat after me: fuck these bastards!

DespeRatt: Yeah, fuck these bastards.

He raised his glass toward an invisible LostGirl and drank down the remnants of his bourbon.

JustAnnonymous: Hear, hear!

DespeRatt: Gotta go now, guys, got a résumé to write. SYT

LostGirl: See you tomorrow, Ratt, and may your résumé writing be inspired.

Quentin closed the Rat Olympics browser window and opened a Google search page instead. He approached his task with the seriousness he engaged when working on a weapons systems project. Thorough, well documented, well researched, all calculations verified twice, and all steps written down for future reference.

He retrieved several sample defense engineer résumés off the Internet and looked through them. Things had changed dramatically in the past twelve years or so. His current résumé was well below expectations; it was a complete write-off.

He right-clicked on his desktop, created a new Word document, and renamed it QuentinHaddenResume.docx. Then he started typing.