She sat cross-legged at the end of the meeting table, the chief finance officer, chief fieldwork officer, Johnson and his manager sitting like statues at their seats, their faces deadpan. She had waited long for this day, for the death toll to be announced, the different sides to be heard, a decision to be finalised. Although a choice meant the world to the others in her department, it still meant nothing to her, and she only came to make a statement. The room did not seem as intimidating as Leo had described from his experience, but that was probably because the CEO had not yet arrived. She, on the other hand, had arrived extra early to check on the crack in the ceiling, which had extended nearly halfway across the room. It was only then that she understood that the crack represented the level of Darkness in their department, and was not a form to be eradicated. What happens when it reached the other end of the ceiling, she could not imagine, so she tried not to let it bother her too much.
Finally, the CEO appeared at the other side of the table, opposite her. They all rose from their seats respectfully, but he gestured them back into them.
“Good morning to all of you. I'm pleased that all asked to attend this discussion is present today in order for us to hear everyone's perspective on the matter at hand. Is there anyone who would like to share theirs first?”
“I, sir,” the finance officer’s hand shot up aggressively. An approving nod from the CEO, and he began,
“Thirty-one perceivers from all departments have died from the Darkness in the past month. The Darkness’ fuel is our hopelessness and fear- of not being able to pay the bills, support our families, and find new work if this organisation crumbles, since the majority of us are without a uni degree. Fifty-three in this month have left the New York branch as a result of the Francis funds crisis. We have no information on why they were withdrawn, or when they can be redeposited. In eight weeks the reserve will be empty. However, the London branch has offered us a loan that can sustain us for another eleven months, until we are back with the same amount we have at present. Though not a long period of time, eleven months is enough to apply for new jobs, look for other sources of financial support, and hopefully for Francis to come out from hiding. It is an extremely valuable length of time according to most I have surveyed. The only catch to this is of course, to give Clarisa up permanently to the London branch, which will lower our success rate in the future, and therefore cut our future performance bonuses. Eighty percent of us in the finance department agree that it is a price we are willing to pay, because waiting any longer for another miracle would be suicide. This offer is a good enough miracle, and it expires in three days. I am a hundred percent for it, and there's nothing that can change that.”
“Objection,” Johnson piped up once he detected a full stop. “We shouldn't forget the competition we've maintained for thirty years with London. If all they ask for is one perceiver, they know very well what that one perceiver can bring them. If and when our funds are restored, things will not be the same. We'll have to expect lighter paychecks and heavier workloads with Clarisa gone. She perceives things that others don't, she has the intuition the rest of us lack. There’s no more capable perceiver than she to deal with sources. She finds innovative strategies for defeating the Darkness out of her own accord, which we have adopted and utilised. London sees value in her, and once we give her away there's no getting her back.”
“I’m afraid I have to disagree,” said Johnson's manager, “In case none of you are aware of this, there have been several complaints from the perceivers in fieldwork regarding Clarisa and her, shall I say- surreal talent. I won’t go into the details of it, but they generally complain of feeling demoralised by her excellence, and that they’re being stripped of the chance to shine. Suffice it to say, they'd rather not have her in the department. No offense intended, Clarisa.”
“None taken,” Clarisa folded her arms nonchalantly.
“Hold on,” Johnson raised a hand at his manager. “They might not want her, they might not think they need her, but they do need her. And that's reason enough to keep her with us.”
“No,” the manager rebutted, “It’s morale, remember? If they think they'll be better off without her, they will be.”
The CEO spoke up before Johnson could make another refute,
“Does the chief fieldwork officer have anything to tell us?”
The head of fieldwork was the first to smile since the start of the meeting. “From what I can see, a confident majority of my department is supportive of this loan. I'm a democratic man, and I don't see why we shouldn't go for it, unless Clarisa herself has any violent objections.”
“A democracy cannot work if the people are ignorant,” Johnson pointed out assertively, “These people don't know what they're losing. They're losing a source of inspiration, battle tactics, and a role model. They might be jealous of her, but this sort of thing happens in every office, and it's immature. They need an example to follow, someone to show them how it's all done. We need an example to follow.”
“Can’t you see that nothing’s going to change, Johnson?” the finance officer rebuked. “In eight weeks, we have nothing. Absolutely nothing. This place will be closed down.”
Clarisa could not help but find Johnson astonishingly hypocritical. Inspiration? Model example? Since when was he one to care about inspiring his subordinates? And if he regarded her insight with such valuing, why didn't he care to listen to her advice?
The CEO raised his hand to silence the room, and he shifted his attention to directly opposite him, where the subject of discussion was listening quietly.
“I more or less have the gist of each of your stands. Now why don't we hear from Miss Clarisa? I'm sure she has much to say.”
Clarisa nodded her thanks to him, for she had plenty- all organised and rehearsed in her head. She spoke eagerly,
“For weeks I’ve been considering this transaction, and I remain indifferent about the place of my employment. The branch is unimportant to me, because all I look for is a systematic platform to do the job I had been doing on my own since I was fifteen. It’s been a pleasure to serve this organisation and this branch specifically, and I've even made good friends here. However, if it's the case that a loan in exchange for my services is the current appeal, I’d have no problems working in a new environment with new colleagues and bosses. In fact, it would be a learning opportunity for me. My only concern is that a loan will not improve the situation that the fieldwork department is experiencing presently. The Darkness is beginning to exhibit limitless power, its manifestations evolving beyond the capabilities of any perceiver to handle them. I have reason to believe it is a representation of something a lot more serious than the withdrawal of funds that is happening in secret in our department. From the serial cases of sabotage that have yet to be thoroughly investigated, it is evident that there is manipulation and dishonesty, even treason at work here. The head of fieldwork had discouraged me from conducting my own investigations in the fear that it would raise suspicion and panic, and I have agreed with his thinking until today. Our inaction is giving the Darkness an opportunity to thrive, and the longer we fear the truth, the more we are feeding it. If you decide to let me stay, I will try my best to get to the heart of the problem and expose the persons responsible for the deaths in this department. Even with my skill, I may not be able to take on whatever the Darkness throws at me, but I can get further with your cooperation or even just your support. If you don't wish to let me stay, then I'm afraid that I have no way to help you. But we are an organisation established for the purpose of fighting the Darkness, and a manifestation in our very own department shouldn't be ignored. A loan sufficient to last you eleven months is a temporary solution, and will only delay the effect of the Darkness. If nothing is being done after eleven months, this branch will be back to the state it’s in now. We need to get to the root of it all before the Darkness makes another maneuver. After all, I do care for the people in this branch, and I’m willing to do as much as I can to help.”
All this she said in spite of knowing the huge possibility of the culprit sitting right under their noses. An awkward silence ensued before the CEO let out a cough and asked,
“So, do you or do you not consent to this transaction?”
The whole scene rewound itself in her head in fast motion, as if she had not yet played any part in it. Was that the committee's response? After everything she had said? She had expected someone to challenge her, perhaps even berate her, but not this.
She opened her mouth to reply, but her lips formed no words. Consent to it and leave a major problem unresolved, or stay to aid an organisation that neither wanted nor deserved her help? As seconds ticked by, she continued to stare at the men in the room, speechless, until a telepathic channel suddenly opened in her mind. She identified the transmitter as none other than Jean-Simon Francis.
[Miss Clarisa Janisson, please come to meet me as soon as possible.]
Clarisa’s eyes widened in surprise, and the CEO questioned,
“What's wrong?”
“It's Francis,” she announced to the room, “He just told me to meet him immediately.”
“The Francis?” he frowned dubiously. “He told you where he is?”
Clarisa reached with her mind for the other end of the channel, and found its origin. The cloak over Francis’ location had been removed.
“He didn't, but he opened my mind to it,” she said in bewilderment.
The committee members exchanged suspicious looks and telepathic remarks, somewhat upset that Francis had not let them in on whatever he wished to inform Clarisa. Finally, the CEO gave her his permission with one word,
“Go.”
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