Louis Fleming: Long time no see
The newcomer extended his hand first, palm facing up. There were calluses of varying depths on the base of his thumb, worn from years of turning pages.
"Kenneth Zaitian," he began, "I am Zaitian's butler, the head of the Traditional Projects Department. My father has been waiting for a long time and specially sent me down to invite you to meet him."
Jingxing withdrew his gaze from the other person's open collar—there was no prosthetic interface there, only skin gleaming with a metallic sheen.
But when he shook hands with Kenneth Zaitian, he found that the other man was not at all cold and icy despite being modified. The warmth he received proved that he was indeed still a carbon-based life form.
"I am Jingxing." Jingxing introduced himself without saying anything more. He had just passed through customs when he was confronted, and he seriously suspected that Zaitian had been watching him all along or had some ulterior motive.
"My father raised me from a young age, so I'm in charge of family matters and matters concerning him as well." Kenneth withdrew his hand and leisurely pulled his collar out slightly. "This invitation to our Traditional Projects Department is also out of the utmost goodwill towards you, so please rest assured."
As they spoke, Kenneth Zaitian turned around and began to lead the way. Jingxing followed half a step, placing the still-warm coffee in his hand on the metal recycling counter at the end of the corridor. The liquid swayed in the paper cup for a moment, then was silently swallowed up, leaving not even a ripple.
From the outside, the elevator appeared to be an old-fashioned double-leaf sliding door with a brass frame. Kenneth pulled an old pocket watch from his pocket, glanced at it, and then shoved it directly into the slot next to the elevator. "Elevator doors leading to department heads' offices each have different authentication items. Like this one."
The pocket watch slid in, made a sound, and then fell neatly into the box below.
"Which floor are we going to?" Jingxing asked curiously.
"Of course it's the 48th floor," Kenneth Zaida Zaitian matter-of-factly.
The copper pointer climbed up one level at a time. With each level it passed, a few whispers of voices could be heard outside; but after a while, the sounds all disappeared.
The floor where the department head works is a completely different world from the lobby downstairs, where floating light screens fill the air and the noise of quantum communication fills the space.
There was no subtle scent of ozone and expensive perfume in the air. Instead, there was a mixture of aged paper, ink, and camphor wood, perfectly fitting the term "traditional project."
The corridor is lined with thick, dark walnut wood panels, polished smooth by time, with warm, lustrous patina on the edges.
There were no floating data projections along the wall, only rows of floor-to-ceiling paper filing cabinets. The dark green metal cabinets were covered with handwritten labels in black ink on white paper, some with thick strokes and some with thin ones, showing that they were not written by the same person; some were so old that the edges were yellowed and curled, and the codes spanned countless Amber Era.
The nearest drawer had been opened, and inside was only a sheet of white paper. Jingxing glanced at it and then looked away, afraid of being accused of spying on secrets.
All the passing employees were dressed in dark formal attire, with brass name tags pinned to their chests, European-style fountain pens tucked between their fingers, or carrying thick kraft paper ledgers as they walked by quickly.
"Those electronic gadgets flying all over the place downstairs, my father does use them in his department's work, but he doesn't like the atmosphere they create." Kenneth walked ahead, his voice just enough to dispel the emptiness of the wooden corridor.
"That sounds pretty traditional," Jingxing commented. "But if everything is left to the machine to make its own judgments, it'll be hard to find someone to take responsibility if something goes wrong, won't it?"
"Yes, but if something like that really happens, my father will take full responsibility." Kenneth smiled, a look of pride on his face. "However, in our Traditional Projects Department, important accounts are always kept in paper form, and each person involved signs for them. This is troublesome, but it also makes it easy to determine responsibility if problems arise."
Jingxing declined to comment. After hundreds of Amber Era of development, Interastral Peace Corporation had long since integrated automation into every aspect of its business. As the department head, Zaitian this way did seem somewhat out of place.
However, to have stayed with the company for so many years, one must not only rely on stubbornness, but also be quite shrewd.
At the end of the corridor stood a heavy solid wood door with a gleaming brass handle. The reception room was furnished with austerity bordering on austerity: a long, unadorned mahogany table with two high-backed chairs on each side, and a ticking, manually wound brass mechanical clock in the corner. A screen embedded in the inner wall was now completely dark, reflecting no light whatsoever.
There were no security cameras in the room, and the air circulation system was turned down to its lowest setting, so quiet you could hear other people's heartbeats.
"Zaitian not here?" Jingxing looked around.
"My father will arrive shortly." Kenneth picked up a celadon teapot and poured a cup of clear, slightly bitter tea. "Please be patient, Mr. Jingxing."
The white porcelain cup handed to Jingxing had several fine crackles along its rim, forming shapes resembling shrubs. Jingxing examined the exquisite cup thoughtfully. He had to admit, Zaitian's aesthetic sense was quite good.
Kenneth placed the teapot on the corner of the table, then stepped outside without sitting down, leaving the space entirely to Jingxing.
Just as he picked up his teacup, intending to take a sip, the black screen directly opposite him suddenly lit up without warning.
First came a short beep, followed by a soft amber glow appearing on the screen. A few moments later, as Jingxing put down his cup, a slightly aged but very Jingxing voice emanated from the screen. "Young friend Jingxing, long time no see."
Jingxing suddenly stood up. "Mr. Louis?"
"Sit down, no need for formalities." Louis Fleming, who never revealed his face, smiled broadly. "This time, I can finally meet you 'now.' I'm sorry, as a retired old man, I can only meet you through the Zaitian."
"Mr. Fleming," Jingxing said, sitting down again, "It's been a long time. I hope you are in good health."
"I know what you want to ask." Louis Fleming seemed to have read his mind and cut to the chase, "I have to tell you something that might not be pleasant to hear—you don't have any official position on the company's roster."
Jingxing raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised but not flustered, quietly waiting for what was to come.
After all, a position is a position, a rank is a rank, and benefits are benefits. Having traversed over seven hundred Amber Era, it's perfectly normal that I don't have a position at the Interastral Peace Corporation now.
Even if there is corruption within the company, it is impossible for someone who cannot be found to hold a nominal P47 position.
"Where to begin?" Louis Fleming paused. "Let's start with the current Market Development Department."