The Optogram

  The Optogram

  Noelle Jeffreys

  Copyright © 2020 by Noelle Jeffreys

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2021

  ISBN: 978-1-7327478-0-7 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-1-7327478-1-4 (paperback)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020921295

  www.noellejeffreys.com

  Chapter One

  DOTHAN KNOX stepped onto the sidewalk, grumbling as he wiped droplets of perspiration from his forehead.

  His apartment was less than ten miles from downtown Seattle, but transit routes were minimal in his neighborhood. By the time he boarded the reeking bus, sweaty commuters had taken every available seat and crammed into the aisle. He stood for over an hour, jostled against irritable strangers, and still had five blocks to walk before he reached his destination.

  Dothan paused at the first crosswalk to check his reflection in the large window of a cafe. Despite the intense humidity of the sweltering vehicle, his hair was still perfect. Relieved, he grinned and patted the short sides of his quiff.

  I look so damn good, he thought.

  His smile fell as he checked his watch.

  “Crap. I’m late.”

  With hurried steps, he dodged around crowds of apathetic workers and homeless encampments cluttering the sidewalk. He turned the last corner and slowed his pace as he passed the gleaming steel fortress of the technology giant, Conscentiam.

  Assholes. Why didn’t they call?

  His arrival at Dunlevy Ocular Research overwhelmed him with disappointment. While aware their offices could not rival the celestial architecture of the monster corporations, he had hoped to endure the inferior internship in something better than a crumbling retrofit storefront.

  An unconscious drunk lay spread-eagle on the steps of the vestibule, blocking the entrance door. Dothan maneuvered his way around the prostrate old man, but as his foot touched the top step, the side of his shoe hit a patch of greenish-brown vomit.

  An oily smear now marked what had been the pristine white leather of his new designer sneakers. His stomach churned as he wiped the edge of its sole on a cracked concrete slab. The shoes had taken every penny made from six months of paychecks at his pitiful part-time job at Sunshine Warehouse, and that blubbering slob had ruined them with one barf.

  He shook with anger as he pressed the metal bar of the plate-glass door and walked into the industrial-style lobby. While the interior decor appeared less depressing than the exterior, the entire building seemed to vibrate with obnoxious people, monotonous work, and mind-numbing technology. Without having spoken a word to anyone, this had already become the worst twelve weeks of his life.

  Dothan slid his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans and approached a full-figured young woman with pink dreadlocks, standing behind a semi-circle reception desk. He stifled a laugh as he read her name and title. Bekkii Simms, it appeared, was no mere receptionist. The shiny plastic sign placed at the center of the polished wood counter introduced her as the Director of Customer Interaction.

  Bekkii grinned. “Hi there. Welcome to Dunlevy Ocular Research. Sorry you had problems with the gentleman out front. We’re trying to show more compassion for the homeless, so we don’t bother them unless we have no choice.” Her many bangles clanked as she leaned forward and whispered, “I’ve called the mission, and someone will be here in a few minutes to get him.”

  Dothan nodded and flashed his perfect smile.

  Just sweep him into the street so he’s collected with the other

  garbage, he thought.

  Her eyes danced over every inch of him. “So, how can I help you?”

  “I’m Dothan Knox, the new computer science intern.”

  “Just a sec.” After a few strokes on her keyboard, Bekkii chirped, “Nilesh will be up in a minute for your orientation.”

  Raucous laughter followed by mingled conversations in a foreign language erupted behind Dothan.

  Bekkii nodded her head toward the noise. “That’s our team of German researchers. They’re here to work with the ocular scientists. They were supposed to arrive next week, but someone in HR booked their flights for today and everything got crazy.”

  She tilted her head and smiled as her fingers twisted a strand of rope-like hair. “I bet you get told this all the time, but Dothan is an awesome name. I always wanted to be called something really different, but my parents stuck me with Rebecca, so I just dressed it up a bit. Anyway, Bekkii fits me better than dumb old Rah-beck-ah.”

  Dothan nodded, trying to avoid the conversation.

  “I’d love to hear the story of your name sometime,” she said.

  Not a chance.

  Spontaneous flirtation was nothing new to Dothan. His physical attraction brought him constant attention. To the chosen few he found intriguing, he might respond with a manipulative tease, but an amorous, full-figured, pink-haired director-wannabe was not on his menu.

  He scanned the room, seeking an escape. Bekkii, oblivious to his disinterest, provided the opportunity.

  “There’s coffee and fresh donuts over there at the Welcome Center,” she said. “I’d go with you, but I’m way too addicted to the Bavarian cream.”

  “Thanks.” With a quick turn, Dothan retreated to the rear of the large, open lobby.

  The Welcome Center comprised long, narrow tables filled with drinks, pastries, and boxes of pamphlets detailing the work achieved by the company. Neon streamers and colorful banners stretched along a mirrored wall above the uninspired spread, proclaiming: “Willkommen, German Researchers! Let’s Make your Experience Eye-Opening!”

  Appalled by the cheesy displays, but having missed his breakfast to catch his bus on time, Dothan placed a shriveled croissant on a paper plate. After shifting past the swarms of chattering researchers surrounding the tables, he reached for a napkin, but a pressure against his shoulder startled him. He turned and found himself face to face with a very tall young man flashing a large, toothy smile and a dusting of powdered sugar across his patchy mustache.

  “Hallo! Jürgen here!”

  Oh. Hell. No.

  With a quick sidestep, Dothan discarded the plate and pastry into the trash, and hustled back to the waiting area. He slumped in one of the rigid chairs, trying to ignore his rumbling stomach.

  God, what a douche.

  His mood continued to darken from the continuing babble and laughter of the researchers, and the way Bekkii flashed a smile every time he lifted his head.

  Come on, he thought, where is this manager dude?

  After fifteen minutes, he grew weary and fidgeted in his chair. If that was the treatment he could expect from Dunlevy, it was unacceptable. Dothan scrolled through his phone, hoping for a last-minute text, email, or anything to rescue him from this fate worse than death, but found nothing new.

  I should never have asked the half-brained placement dorks at the college to handle my internship after those bastard companies blanked me.

  He stared at the floor, brooding over the dozens of applications sent to every tech powerhouse in Seattle. Despite his superior skill set, he had received nothing in return. Now, while a chosen few ventured into a world of innovation and privilege, he sat waiting to begin three months of hell.

  Dothan surveyed the grim lobby and frowned. He had to accept his fate, d
espite the dismal circumstances. His degree program required him to complete an internship, even if the placement was an embarrassment to his talents.

  Despite the lack of prestige, there were some benefits to Dunlevy. The small salary he received from them meant the five grueling nights of six-to-midnight shifts stacking boxes and stocking shelves at Sunshine Warehouse, decreased to a single four-hour shift on Saturdays. There was also the solid reference he expected to receive from the research facility at the successful conclusion of the summer internship. He might even score additional coding work throughout his senior year and rid himself of the heinous stockroom forever.

  A heavyset, bearded man turned a corner. Dothan brushed off his jeans and extended his hand as the man approached him with a wide grin.

  “You must be Dotane Knox,” the man said. He grasped Dothan’s palm in a tight squeeze.

  “It’s Dothan. Spelled D-o-t-h-a-n, with an ‘h’ and no extra ‘e’.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, sorry, sorry, man. I’m Nilesh Sitram. I’ll be your mentor throughout your three months with us. We’re very glad to have you, and I hope this experience will be worthwhile.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ll become more of an asset to the company than I’ll gain from it, but thank you.”

  Nilesh paused for a moment with a puzzled expression. “Yes, of course. Let’s head back to my office and start your orientation.”

  They walked in an uncomfortable silence along a corridor lined by identical doors with engraved brass nameplates identifying the occupants.

  One day, thought Dothan, instead of just a dumb nameplate on a door, I’ll be running a corporation that’ll make Conscentiam HQ look like a trailer park.

  A dull rumble grew to an overwhelming cacophony as they approached a set of double doors. Nilesh pressed against a gray panel, and Dothan cringed as they entered the enormous open-plan office. Noisy conversations and the clacking of mechanical keyboards echoed within the barnlike environment. Groups shouted as they huddled together, and people strolled between desks with phones glued to their ears. A few sat hunched in silence behind surrogate walls of monitors, while others tried to block out the chaos with earbuds or headphones.

  He winced as a loud squeal of laughter pierced the air. Nilesh led him to a glass-front office and closed the door, enveloping them in a blissful silence.

  “That’s better,” said Nilesh. “I had hoped to give you a tour of our IT department, but they’re working with a deadline. I don’t want to interrupt their progress, so let’s do that later in the month. Please take a chair.”

  Dothan seated himself in front of the desk.

  “Let me say,” continued Nilesh, “your grades are stellar, and I had a look at your public code repo. I’m super impressed. I’ve decided, at first anyway, to leave you to work unsupervised with weekly one-on-ones. We can go over all the details later, but I don’t think you’ll have any problem setting up and executing this project without someone at your shoulder.”

  With a half-smile, Dothan nodded. “Sounds good.” Just as he expected, without doing a thing, management was already understanding his extraordinary talent.

  “You’ll be getting an information packet in your company email, but I wanted to give you a quick overview of what we do. Dunlevy Ocular Research is a multidisciplinary biosciences facility. We work with large eye institutes on projects relating to the retina and vitreous. Our scientists conduct studies of healthy and diseased eye tissue, and we collaborate with institutions all over the world to develop unique research for medical devices. I suppose you saw the group waiting in the lobby this morning?”

  Dothan nodded. Yeah, the dork at the donut table. How could I forget?

  “They’re researchers from our sister company in Munich, Germany, and they’ll be here for the next three months to help us convert our old platform using their specialized software.”

  Please don’t tell me I’m stuck with that dweeb.

  “Will I be working with them?” asked Dothan.

  Nilesh shook his head. “No. They’ll be with a different team. Our group deals with records relating to post-mortem ocular research, and your project will be based around that. Do you know what I mean by post-mortem?”

  Dothan nodded. Do I look like I’m in second grade?

  “Great. Well, that’s pretty much it, unless you want to sit through a half hour of my droning on about the company history. Do you have any questions?”

  You mean, like, what the fuck am I going to be doing here?

  “What’s the project?”

  Nilesh stood and walked to the door. “Tell you what. Let’s head to your desk and I’ll explain all that when we get there.”

  With a nod, Dothan returned to the madhouse, waiting to find his desk placed somewhere in the middle of the chaos. To his surprise, Nilesh led him back toward the lobby. Bekkii grinned and waved as they passed the reception desk, but Dothan averted his eyes, following his mentor to the elevator.

  As the brushed aluminum doors closed, Nilesh pressed the LL button on the panel and they began their descent.

  Where the hell are we going? thought Dothan. The parking garage?

  “Beautiful June weather for the northwest, don’t you think?” Nilesh smiled with teeth so white they shone in the dim light. “I recall your resume said you’ve always lived in Seattle, correct?”

  “No, I was born in Alabama. We moved to Portland, Oregon, when I was a kid.”

  “Ah, right, right. I remember now. That’s where you attended tech school and then came up here for your undergrad.”

  Dothan nodded, trying not to flinch at the reminder of his two years confinement in what amounted to an alternative high school prison.

  The elevator shook as it leveled itself at its destination. Dothan tensed as the door shuddered open to a florescent-lit basement lined with gray metal shelves and bookcases. It appeared someone in the distant past had attempted to brighten the semi-darkness with a coat of baby vomit yellow paint. The years of neglect, though, had left the faded walls streaked with mildew, giving the area a bad horror movie vibe.

  Nilesh guided Dothan around a breeze-block wall, stopping at an annexed alcove furnished by a trio of plastic tables arranged in a horseshoe.

  “You’ll be sharing the space with Agnes Pitree.” He pointed at the files and boxes scattered across one table. “She’s taken care of the facility archives and old hard copy files for as long as any of us can remember.” Nilesh pushed a taped-up executive chair, whose wheels squealed with each rotation, toward Dothan. “Your desk is the one on the right. That middle table was meant for one more intern, but this year’s budget didn’t allow it, so you could take advantage of both spaces.”

  Dothan’s eyes widened, dumbfounded at the sight of the makeshift workstations. “I can’t…I mean…what is it I’ll be doing?”

  “Right, right. Let me give you some background. Thousands of digitized post-mortem retinal scans and eye images are floating everywhere throughout our systems.” Nilesh pointed at the many tall rows of gray metal shelving filled with boxes. “Each of them corresponds to a file behind us, which contains hard copies of the images and data such as autopsy reports.”

  “This is where you come in,” he continued. “You’re going to search the Dunlevy servers and data warehouses to locate, classify and categorize all retinal scans by date and department. When you’ve done that, you’ll find and link them to their corresponding post-mortem autopsy image. Now, the images may or may not have been digitized, and that’s why you’re down here in the archives. Agnes will tell you how to request a hardcopy file if you need it. When that’s all complete, you’ll make them available as a searchable library for the students and research partners.”

  You want me…ME…to do something a first-year student could do with their eyes closed.

  “The UI design and any features or enhancements
are at your discretion.” Nilesh smiled and placed a finger in front of his lips. “Now, this bit is hush-hush. The whole thing is being driven by our chief technology officer, and she’s flagged part of your research for use as a high profile security project based upon the retina. She wants it all working for the big ocular convention in September, so I’ll need to see lots of progress within your timeline.”

  Wait. Did he say the CTO? High profile? Maybe there’s still hope

  for this gig.

  “I can do that. No problem,” said Dothan.

  “Great,” said Nilesh. “Now hang here while I get your laptop from the service bay. Oh, yes, before I forget, when you get through the onboarding email, watch the training videos for HR and sign their paperwork. After that, familiarize yourself with the ticket system. I think you’ll find that bit pretty simple. Just log into the website, scroll to your name, and find your task list. Most important, coffee vending is upstairs in the third-floor cafeteria. I hear Agnes keeps a pot somewhere, but you need to ask her about that. I guess you’ve figured out I don’t come down here much.”

  Nope, I never noticed you’ve been twitching ever since we got to this crypt.

  Nilesh sprinted to the elevator, and, as the door clamped shut against the wide, white smile, Dothan’s heart sank.

  He covered his face and groaned, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What the actual fuck?”

  “They won’t help you down here,” said a grating voice with the charm of gravel, “and watch your language.”

  Startled, he twisted around to face an older, dark-skinned woman with orange-red, frizzy hair, gripping a file box. She glared at him over pink reading glasses perched low on the bridge of her nose. He assumed this was Agnes, the person with whom he was sharing those broken-down tables.

  “I guess you’re the new intern,” she said. “Nilesh emailed you’d be here today,” Her neon-bright curls glowed in the florescent light as she passed him. After dropping the box with a noisy crash onto the cluttered table, Agnes groaned, pressed her hands against her back, and turned to glare at Dothan. “Listen, we’re stuck together for a few weeks, so let’s get something straight. I don’t do small talk, and it makes no difference to me what kind of love life you have, what TV shows you watch, or even if you’re having a good day. You just mind your business, I’ll take care of my own. Understand?”