I first met my boss, Mister Messalinus, during a job fair at my college. He seemed oddly formal and very young. Even younger than I myself was. That, however strange, did not bug me near as much as the look in his eyes. All of the others who were talking about their companies were very loud, gregarious, reaching out trying to cast the widest possible net. Mister Messalinus, however, did not. He stared ahead silently, his eyes somehow both world-weary and eminently curious in spite of his youth. He watched the other booths in fascination, and only a few people approached him. Those that did left confused and somewhat disinterested. Myself being a generally disinterested human being, I wandered over to see what the lack of fuss was about.
Clearing my throat, I asked the gentleman, “Hey, how are you?”
Hearing my voice, he zoned back in, his eyes quickly moving from the robotics company’s booth to look at me. “Greetings,” he said, somehow making such an innately creepy way of saying hello only minorly so.
“You have an odd booth, I must say. Why the corner, the windows would get more traffic, wouldn’t they?” I asked.
The youth nodded. “They, in fact, get one hundred and seventy eight percent more traffic, yes. But I seek quality of student, not quantity.”
I countered, “But the greater quantity to see your booth would increase the likelihood of a student of good quality noticing, would it not?”
He chuckled, then leaned in. “I also burn very easily, in case my paleness didn’t tell you that.”
I laughed along with him. He wasn’t telling the whole truth, but he also wasn’t lying, about either thing. After a good chuckle, I asked him, “So, what exactly does your company do?”
He laughed. “My company is a scientific research firm owned and wholly operated by myself,” he said, confidently, then slightly more timidly, “Well, mostly owned and wholly operated by myself. There are a few other investors.”
I, of course, was suspicious. I mean, this wasn’t MIT or Cornell or Stanford. We weren’t famous for our sciences in particular. Hell, we weren’t even the science school in the state. “Why come here, then?” I asked, “I mean, Blacksburg isn’t far, and they would have better recruits.”
“Who said I seek scientists, or engineers?” the man asked, “Perhaps I seek well rounded people?”
“Then there are about a thousand smaller colleges you could visit instead, ones more designed for the whole well-rounded thing.”
He laughed at me. “First and foremost, I plan to. They know better than have their fairs intersect with yours or Tech’s. And secondly, what was that you mentioned about quantity increasing the likelihood of finding quality?”
I chuckled. He’d used my own statement against me, meaning he’d actually payed some modicum of attention to what I’d said. More than a lot of these recruiters do. “So, why here in particular?”
“I am opening up a new facility in the Shenandoah. Locals are easier to convince to stay than people are to convince to move.” He answered me almost dismissively.
“And if you aren’t looking for scientists, what are you looking for?” I asked. I was curious. After all, his was a scientific company and I was a scientist.
He shrugged. “Interesting individuals. Marcellus Messalinus, at your service.”
“An odd name,” I remarked.
He grinned. “My parents were a tad bit obsessed with Rome.” Then, he laughed as though that was a joke.
I nodded. “I feel you. My parents were a tad bit obsessed with drugs.” He stared at me, waiting expectantly. Realizing what he was waiting for, I stuck forth my hand. “I’m River Casey.”
He shook my hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Master Casey. And what, pray tell, do you study?”
“You wouldn’t be interested. Physics, mostly.”
It was at that moment that my girlfriend walked over. “Babe, what’re you looking at?”
I smiled at her, “This is Mr. Messalinus, and he’s just an interesting person.”
“Did my boyfriend tell you that he’s the second best physics student in the school?” She asked.
“No, I believe he was intentionally leaving that out,” the man replied. Then, he smiled his wicked smile once again and asked her, “Is there anything else he has been leaving out, I wonder. Like perhaps, why he remained here rather than visit the more suitable, famous booths in the hall?”
My girlfriend, determined to embarrass me before a potential employer, leaned forwards. “He wants to change the world. The only people looking for physicists here are a part of ‘the Man’ he’s trying to take down.”
I glared at her. She giggled. He looked at me, his eyebrows raising. “And why, pray tell, are you intent on this course of action?” The scientist asked me, “Why cast aside a reliable future for idealism?
I looked at him. There wasn’t even a hint of judgment in his eyes. He was genuinely curious. I shook my head. “Because I, well, I grew up on a farm. I wasn’t supposed to go to college, but my friend submitted my application without my, or my parents, knowledge. I needed a scholarship to even think about attending, and somehow I got nearly a full ride from crew. My roommate since freshman year is a refugee from the American military. I don’t want to contribute to either of those problems.”
He nodded. Somehow, he understood. Then, he asked, “Have you taken any sociology, history, or philosophy courses?”
“A few,” I answered modestly.
My girlfriend, once again, interrupted, “If by a few you mean he’s a history minor, then yeah.”
I sighed as I shook my head, hand covering my face. The youth turned to the woman. “You truly are useful for interpreting your boyfriend. What shall I call you?”
“Beth. Wait, crap, no, I mean, I’m Elizebet Strand, but everyone calls me Beth,” she blubbered out. She had a problem with young authority figures, they made her feel like she hadn’t achieved anything yet.
“And Miss Strand, what do you want to do?” he asked as he patiently waited for me to uncover my embarrassed face.
“I’m in communications, I’m going to be a politician,” she said confidently.
I uncovered my face as she spoke, specifically to get his reaction. He shook his head, chuckled, and replied, “I’m afraid that does little favor for you in my book. I find politicians generally a cowardly and superstitious lot.”
I furrowed my brow at him. “Isn’t that what Batman refers to criminals as?” I asked.
He chuckled once again. “I get the two confused so often,” he joked, then, more seriously, he handed me a business card. “I will be honest, I think you would work well for me. You would find the experiments we do odd, and the non-disclosure agreement frighteningly thorough, but you would also find it intriguing, and I think you may provide some benefit to certain projects. Do you have any knowledge of quantum theory?”
“Yeah, that’s kind of my focus.” It was. The heart of what I wanted to do was unify the quantum with the relative, but I wasn’t certain if that would be achievable in my lifetime, so pushing forth quantum field theory was the best way to attempt it.
“Take my pamphlet, then, Master Casey,” he said, “If you’re interested, send in an application.” Then, turning to Beth, he added, “And Miss Strand, I wish you the best in your wicked future. May you scheme your way to the presidency with grace.”
She laughed and we left, looking at other booths. But, for some reason, I kept on thinking about that weird guy’s corner booth. It was lodged into my mind like none of the other scientific research firms were. And so, the next week, I sent the application in for work. It was a simple, online form, just a cover letter, a resume, and an odd essay about where the future of science lay. I, of course, wrote it on unification, basically just rephrasing large portions of my senior thesis on the theoretical and practical implications of such a generalized theorem. A couple weeks later, I got a package in my student mail. Not a letter, a package. It was an eight-hundred page annotated NDA, with a letter attached saying my application was accepted and I would be hired come August first, so long as I signed this NDA and turned it in on my first day. Finding it somewhat ridiculous, I invited Beth to read it with me.
It turned out, it included several things. First, I would be allowed to publish findings, but only with the approval of my boss, Mr. Messalinus, and only after a year of applied theoretical testing. Made some sense, though why the approval was necessary, I didn’t know. Also turned out, I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone what I was working on, ever. It went through pretty much every scenario. It outlined that they had in-house therapists who would be available for discussion of non-disclosable information, or for general, free therapy. And it was thorough. Beth showed it to one of her dad’s lawyers, and he laughed. Not chuckled, not conspiratorial guffawing. No, he straight up laughed and said that there were pretty much no loopholes he could see in it. If I was going to work for the fascinating man in his strange company, it would be kept quiet except for when he wanted me to talk about it.
I was suspicious of this, so I called him up. He picked up almost immediately. “Hello?” he said.
“Hi, this is River Casey.”
“Master Casey, right. I just hired you. I assume you’re calling about the Non-Disclosure Agreement?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “Um why is it so thorough?”
He sighed. “You want the honest truth, Master Casey?” he asked, rhetorically, then answered, “Much of the stuff we will be studying could have dangerous military applications. The purpose of the secrecy is to prevent as much of that as possible.” Then, after a brief pause, he added, “And the thoroughness of the legality is due to a betrayal in my past. Someone took our research and used it to cause some major problems and I never want that to happen again.”
I sighed. I suppose I understood where he was coming from. “Alright,” I replied, “See you in the summer.”
“Finish your education strong,” he replied, and hung up the phone. I signed the massive document in all the necessary places, and put it aside.
I graduated at the top of my physics class, and got an apartment in the town closest to the research lab. The first day of work, I showed up with my huge packet of paper and got shoved into the elevator with a couple of other recent graduates. When the doors opened, I saw the youth standing there, in a lab coat, waiting for us. “Hello. Sorry about all of the secrecy, but what we are doing is revolutionary, potentially dangerous, and much of it would get you thrown into an asylum. The simplest option is to not question it too much. You all know me, I’m Marcellus. You may call me sir, boss, or Mister Messalinus.” He began walking and was joined by a young woman. “This is Lilith. Forgive the name, her parents were Satanists. She’ll be your direct boss. You will do everything she says, within reason. If it does not make sense, you will ask me.” He led up into a large room, with glass looking into several chambers with people apparently strapped down in chairs. “This is the work room. Until you get promoted, you’ll be in and out of here often, but likely will not be working in here.” There was a scream from one of the chambers as the person seemed to be like something halfway between man and crocodile.
“What the fuck?” the young lady beside me said. I had to agree.
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