Misc. Sketches

Dr. Xiong and Western Amalgamated

I'd been working for Western Amalgamated Agricultural for about four years when I got an email from Dr. Isaac Rose, our famous head researcher, offering me work on a "classified project". It wasn't just a form letter, but written in Dr. Rose's colorful tone, mixing together casual language and technical jargon. He had a lot of good things to say about my work in Western Amalgamated's oceanic algaculture department, and a post-graduate project I'd worked on involving siphonophores. I'd wasn't really sure what about that project had attracted Dr. Rose's attention, or what it had to do with our company's business, agricultural biotechnology.

Then there was the psych eval he mentioned I'd have to go through. I was a bit suspicious, but eventually decided it was just to make sure I could keep their secrets. They couldn't risk me selling their important projects to a rival corporation. Or worse, giving them to some delusional "environmental organization" trying to fuel their witch-hunt against the genetically modified crops we've done so much good with.

To be on the safe side, I sent Dr. Rose an e-mail. I asked him to promise that, if the psych eval decided I wasn't quite good enough for this project, it wouldn't hurt my career. I'm a woman of ideals and faith in God, and I worried they would consider this a sign of the potentially dangerous self-righteousness that so often slows down progress.

Dr. Rose's response to the concerns was surprising. He explained that my faith and my ideals, which he'd heard about from my concern for the safety of our new developments and comments from my superiors, had done just as much to get me selected as my scientific achievements. While the psych eval would make sure I wouldn't betray corporate secrets, it was also to determine if I would be able to handle myself in "highly stressful situations". This worried me; while I considered myself quite capable in that sort of thing, I wondered why that was so important. It was also a bit unexpected that my faith was being complimented by an infamous agnostic like Dr. Rose.

But curiosity triumphed and, with some trepidation, I accepted the offer and was informed I would be flying into San Jose on our CEO's private jet. That was when it hit me that I'd just signed up for something big.

Informally, I think that psych eval began when I was nearly aboard the jet, and was greeted by Ms. Winters, Western Amalgamated’s infamously eccentric head of security. I knew from the pictures I'd seen that she was small, child-like, and deathly pale, but nothing had prepared me for her physical presence. She moved very much like a child as well, with an awkward, imbalanced, enthusiastic energy. "So, Dr. Mary Xiong," she greeted me. "The new girl Izzy thinks has the stuff for Project Bifröst." She grinned and tilted her head, a bit more than was necessary. "Pleasure to meet you." She leapt back with unexpected agility and offered a overly-formal courtesy of the knee-length skirt she wore over her baggy jeans.

I cleared my throat and, already suspecting the answer, said, "nice to meet you as well, Ms. Winters. Are Dr. Rose and Mr. Clark also on board?"

Mr. Sigmund Clark was our CEO, and it is well known that he, Dr. Rose, and Ms. Winters are an inseparable trio whose misadventures occasionally find themselves the subject of gossip. The exact nature of their relationships as well -- I’d heard a lot of whispers that the relationship between Dr. Rose and Ms. Winters was more than platonic. Given Ms. Winters’ childlike appearance, the implications were unsettling. But whether they were friends or more, it was a bond forged long ago: they were both born and raised in a particularly poverty-stricken part of Detroit, and never fully adjusted to the world of the wealthy elite. Their bluntness and wicked humor is greatly appreciated by Mr. Clark, but many of his peers find these same traits insufferable.

"Naturally," Ms. Winters said, beckoning me into the plane proper. "All right, Mary, you're about to follow a strange girl named Alice down a metaphorical rabbit hole of all sortsa crazy fun." Her grin widened into an alarming expression that seemed to be more a display of teeth than warmth. "Last chance to say 'fuck this shit', pop the blue pill, return to turning algae into fuel, and you have my word nobody will think ill of you for it."