The Reluctant Doorkeeper Trilogy

3. Day 26

Emma stared hard at the screen as though unwavering concentration could apply colour to blank squares. Yellow, blue or black, she didn’t care; anything other than three empty columns. It had to be a computer glitch; the portal always showed some vacancies. ‘Next page,’ she directed, hoping to see a notice reporting the issue. Columns wavered before disappearing and were quickly replaced by flashing red capital letters:

NO POSITIONS AVAILABLE

She repeated the words aloud, prompting a command not understood, response. It took a moment to clear her head and mutter, ‘Exit portal.’ The screen faded to grey, respite for an eleven-month job seeker. A blank screen, resembling nothing more than a lacklustre rectangular shape, covered a tiny portion of her white living room wall. She could stare at it until her eyes glazed over without experiencing a pang of failure or foreboding. Control had been in her hands for a moment; she had silenced the infernal machine and could leave her apartment for the rest of the day.

command not understood,Down in the foyer she encountered Will James, her friend Janet’s son. Two years older than Jack, Will was due to finish his engineering degree within the year. ‘Hi there, Will. How’s uni?’

He shrugged. ‘Same as usual, Emma. Any luck yet?’

She shook her head, speculating on whether everyone in the building knew her situation. Although friendly with Jack, Will hadn’t visited the apartment for weeks. ‘I had a problem with the EPP just now. Do you think my computer could be faulty?’

‘What happened?’

Emma told him about the blank squares and a flashing notice.

‘So, the problem’s not my screen,’ Will mumbled. ‘Want me to look at it?’ he added, looking down at Emma.

‘That would be wonderful.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I can offer cake and coffee.’

‘Enough said. Lead the way.’

* * *

In the living room, Emma and Will perched on matching kitchen stools, foreheads furrowed, arms folded tight across their chests. ‘I don’t get it,’ Will remarked, as the screen refreshed for the umpteenth time. ‘Every query gives the same result, that bloody notice. There have to be some vacancies in a city of twenty million.’

‘So, it’s not my machine?’

Will shook his head. ‘I didn’t want to mention it in the foyer, but when I checked the engineering section earlier this morning, I got the same response. I even changed the parameters to include positions outside the metropolitan area, but still nothing doing.’ He turned towards her. ‘I know for sure there are engineering jobs available on the new desalination plant development in Gippsland. If you ask me, the entire system’s stuffed.’

‘That, or a scenario I don’t wish to pursue.’

‘You mean like someone’s hacked the portal?’

Emma’s over-active imagination had envisaged even more dramatic explanations, such as a coup or an invasion by a hostile foreign power. Her eyes flicked back to the screen and she noted the blinking Give Command indicator. ‘Let’s call it a day, Will. There’s no point in repeating the exercise. We’ll be advised sooner or later.’

Give Command‘True.’ Will slid from the stool and stretched stiff limbs while he waited for Emma to issue the exit command.

* * *

They sat side by side at the breakfast bar, Will devouring cake as though he hadn’t eaten for days. His coffee remained untouched and Emma wondered if he would have preferred tea. Accustomed to Jack’s tastes, she hadn’t thought to ask. Still disturbed by the concept of a malfunctioning portal, she drained her own mug and swallowed quickly, the brew bitter in her mouth without the lingering sweetness of cake. Picking up the knife used to cut a slice of cake, she watched it slip from her fingers and clatter to the stone bench. ‘Sorry, I’m not usually so clumsy.’

‘No worries.’ Will finished his cake and pushed the plate to one side. ‘I could try to find out what’s up with the portal. If you’d like to know, that is?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘A friend of mine’s just finished a Masters’ in computer science,’ he said, glancing at the faded black and orange band encircling his right wrist. ‘Her thesis dealt with cybersecurity, so she’s bound to have some ideas.’ He lifted his arm. ‘Call Sandra Baker.’ The tiny screen flickered for a moment, then an automated voice suggested he leave a message. ‘Hi, it’s Will James. Give me a call when you’re free, please, Sandy.’ He turned back to Emma. ‘I’ll call her again later.’

‘No rush, I’m just curious,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light, her main concern being whether the loss of a day’s data would affect her timeline. An extra day could generate suitable employment, eliminate the need to front up to the PCB.

Will drank his coffee in one go, then rose from the stool. ‘I must get on. Thanks for the cake. It was good to talk. I don’t get much of a chance to mix with neighbours these days. Too much study.’

Emma smiled and shifted in her seat.

‘Don’t get up, I’ll see myself out.’ He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Take care, Emma.’

* * *

Long after Will had departed, Emma remained seated, musing on the joy of unexpected company rather than a problematic portal. Sharing food had always pleased her; it fostered conversation and gave her a sense of purpose, sadly lacking in her current existence. Since Aarav’s death, the dining suite – a small folding table and three chairs – had been pushed into a corner as if the absence of one family member rendered it redundant. Emma missed the daily dialogue over dinner with her partner, his voice melodious, his words unhurried, the way he often spoke the thoughts gathering in her head.

herIn recent years, it had been mostly the two of them sitting either side of the table, Jack studying at uni or out with friends. They relished the opportunity to linger over meals, discussing all manner of topics, no rush to clear the table so Jack could do his school homework. Each listened deeply to the other, with no interruption or insistence on a particular opinion. Never lost for words, they often continued a discussion while stacking dishes and preparing after-dinner coffee.

Emma smiled as she recalled the questions posed by Jack on returning home one night to discover his parents still seated at the table. ‘Don’t you two ever stop talking? Surely after twenty years you’ve run out of things to say?’

‘Never,’ Aarav had replied, lifting a food-encrusted spoon and pointing it at Jack. ‘Remember, my son. If conversation be the food of love, talk on.’

‘Lovestruck parents, who’d have ‘em! And by the way, that’s an incorrect quote. It should be, if music be the food of love, play on.’

if music be the food of love, play on.’‘The music of her voice,’ Aarav had declared, reaching across the table to stroke Emma’s cheek.