Ulysse came closer and bent to read from the display. "Yech. So what’s the message?"
Dixie Mae reached across the desk and scrolled down the display. The return address was [email protected]. The topic choice was "Voice Formatting." They got lots on that topic; Voxalot format control wasn’t quite as intuitive as the ads would like you to believe.
But this was by golly not a follow-up on anything Dixie Mae had answered:
...
Hey there, Honey Chile! I’ll be truly grateful if you would tell me how to put the following into italics:
"Remember the Tarzanarama tree house? The one you set on fire? If you’d like to start a much bigger fire, then figure out how I know all this. A big clue is that 999 is 666 spelled upside down."
I’ve tried everything and I can’t set the above proposition into indented italics–leastwise without fingering. Please help.
Aching for some of your Southron Hospitality, I remain your very bestest fiend,
–Lusting (for you deeply)
Ulysse’s voice was dry: "So, Victor, you’ve figured how to edit incoming forms."
"God damn it, I’m innocent!"
"Sure you are." Ulysse’s white teeth flashed in her black face. The three little words held a world of disdain.
Dixie Mae held up her hand, waving them both to silence. "I ... don’t know. There’s something real strange about this mail." She stared at the message body for several seconds. A big ugly chill was growing in her middle. Mom and Dad had built her that tree house when she was seven years old. Dixie Mae had loved it. For two years she was Tarzana of Tarzana. But the name of the tree house–Tarzanarama–had been a secret. Dixie Mae had been nine years old when she torched that marvelous tree house. It had been a terrible accident. Well, a world-class temper tantrum, actually. But she had never meant the fire to get so far out of control. The fire had darn near burned down their real house, too. She had been a scarifyingly well-behaved little girl for almost two years after that incident.
Ulysse was giving the mail a careful read. She patted Dixie Mae on the shoulder. "Whoever this is, he certainly doesn’t sound friendly."
Dixie Mae nodded. "This weasel is pushing every button I’ve got." Including her curiosity. Dad was the only living person that knew who had started the fire, but it was going on four years since he’d had any address for his daughter–and Daddy would never have taken this sex-creep, disrespecting tone.
Victor glanced back and forth between them, maybe feeling hurt that he was no longer the object of suspicion. "So who do you think it is?"
Don Williams craned his head over the next partition. "Who is what?"
Given another few minutes, and they’d have everyone on the floor with some bodily part stuck into Victor’s cubicle.
Ulysse said, "Unless you’re deaf, you know most of it, Don. Someone is messing with us."
"Well then, report it to Johnson. This is our first day, people. It’s not a good day to get sidetracked."
That brought Ulysse down to earth. Like Dixie Mae, she regarded this LotsaTech job as her last real chance to break into a profession.
"Look," said Don. "It’s already lunch time."–Dixie Mae glanced at her watch. It really was!–"We can talk about this in the cafeteria, then come back and give Great Lotsa a solid afternoon of work. And then we’ll be done with our first week!" Williams had been planning a party down at his folks’ place for tonight. It would be their first time off the LotsaTech campus since they took the job.
"Yeah!" said Ulysse. "Dixie Mae, you’ll have the whole weekend to figure out who’s doing this–and plot your revenge."
Dixie Mae looked again at the impossible "previous responder field." "I ... don’t know. This looks like it’s something happening right here on the LotsaTech campus." She stared out Victor’s picture window. It was the same view as from her cubicle, of course–but now she was seeing everything with a different mind set. Somewhere in the beautiful country-club buildings, there was a real sleaze ball. And he was playing guessing games with her.
Everybody was quiet for a second. Maybe that helped–Dixie Mae realized just what she was looking at: the next lodge down the hill. From here you could only see the top of its second story. Like all the buildings on the campus, it had a four-digit identification number made of gold on every corner. That one was Building 0999.
A big clue is that 999 is just 666 spelled upside down. "Jeez, Ulysse. Look: 999." Dixie Mae pointed down the hillside.
"It could be a coincidence."
"No, it’s too pat." She glanced at Victor. This really was the sort of thing someone like him would set up. But whoever wrote that letter just knew too much. "Look, I’m going to skip lunch today and take a little walk around the campus."
"That’s crazy," said Don. "LotsaTech is an open place, but we’re not supposed to be wandering into other project buildings."
"Then they can turn me back."
"Yeah, what a great way to start out with the new job," said Don. "I don’t think you three realize what a good deal we have here. I know that none of you have worked a customer support job before."
He looked around challengingly. "Well I have. This is heaven. We’ve got our own friggin’ offices, onsite tennis courts and health club. We’re being treated like million-dollar system designers.
We’re being given all the time we need to give top-notch advice to the customers. What LotsaTech is trying to do here is revolutionary! And you dips are just going to piss it away." Another allaround glare. "Well, do what you want, but I’m going to lunch."
There was a moment of embarrassed silence. Ulysse stepped out of the cubicle and watched Don and others trickle away toward the stairs. Then she was back. "I’ll come with you, Dixie Mae, but . .
. have you thought Don may be right? Maybe you could just postpone this till next week?"
Unhappiness was written all over her face. Ulysse was a lot like Dixie Mae, just more sensible.
Dixie Mae shook her head. She figured it would be at least fifteen minutes before her common sense could put on the brakes.
"I’ll come, Dixie Mae," said Victor. "Yeah... . This could be an interesting story."
Dixie Mae smiled at Ulysse and reached out her hand. "It’s okay, Ulysse. You should go to lunch."
The other looked uncertain. "Really. If Mr. Johnson asks about me missing lunch, it would help if you were there to set him right about what a steady person I am."
"Okay, Dixie Mae. I’ll do that." She wasn’t fooled, but this way it really was okay.
Once she was gone, Dixie Mae turned back to Victor. "And you. I want a printed copy of that freakin’ email."
They went out a side door. There was a soft-drink and candy machine on the porch. Victor loaded up on "expeditionary supplies" and the two started down the hill.
"Hot day," said Victor, mumbling around a mouth full of chocolate bar.
"Yeah." The early part of the week had been all June Gloom. But the usual overcast had broken, and today was hot and sunny–and Dixie Mae suddenly realized how pleasantly air-conditioned life had been in the LotsaTech "sweatshop." Common sense hadn’t yet reached the brakes, but it was getting closer.
Victor washed the chocolate down with a Dr. Fizzz and flipped the can behind the oleanders that hung close along the path. "So who do you think is behind that letter? Really?"
"I don’t know, Victor! Why do you think I’m risking my job to find out?"
Victor laughed. "Don’t worry about losing the job, Dixie Mae. Heh. There’s no way it could have lasted even through the summer." He gave his usual superior-knowledge grin.
"You’re an idiot, Victor. Doing customer support right will be a billion dollar winner."