Set This House in Order by Matt Ruff Page A

did any work debugging code.” To Mouse’s blank stare: “You know, code ? Software code?”
    â€œOh,” said Mouse. “I—”
    â€œSee, here’s the thing,” Julie said. She reached for Mouse’s laptop; Mouse started to protest, but Julie was only moving it aside, making room on the table for a laptop of her own. She grabbed a chair and sat down, sliding in so close that her knee and Mouse’s were touching. “The thing is,” Julie continued, “I’ve got this software company, and we’ve been working on this virtual-reality project for a couple years now. And my lead programmer, Dennis, he’s a really sharp guy, but lately he’s just not getting things done fast enough. So the past few months I’ve been thinking about bringing in somebody new, to sort of light a fire under Dennis’s ass.”
    Julie tapped on her laptop’s keyboard, opening a window on the screen that filled with a scroll of letters, numbers, and symbols. Software code, Mouse guessed, though it might as well have been Chinese. “This is part of the source code for one of our program modules,” Julie explained. “Or rather, it was part of the source code—this version of the software turned out to have a bug in it. Nothing complicated; it only took Dennis a few minutes to track down and fix, once he got around to it. But I kept this copy of the original code to use as a sort of test for potential employees…” She looked expectantly at Mouse.
    Mouse shook her head. She opened her mouth, intending to say that she was sorry if she had somehow given Julie the wrong impression, but she wasn’t looking for a second job, and besides—
    Her chair slid back abruptly from the table. Julie didn’t seem to notice: she was leaning forward now, studying the laptop’s screen.
    â€œHuh,” Julie said, rubbing her chin. “I don’t think this is the same fix Dennis came up with…” She dug through a sheaf of papers that lay on the table, pulling out one page and comparing it with what was on the screen. “No, it isn’t the same.” She extracted a second page from the pile. “Shit…I think your solution might be better…It’s simpler, anyway…” Julie put the pages back down, and turned to Mouse with a look of new respect. “So how happy are you, working for Rudy?”
    Mouse shrugged, not sure how to answer that question. She worked for Rudy so she could pay her bills, and because it was on the list; what did being happy have to do with it?
    â€œIt can’t be a very interesting job,” Julie suggested. “Sitting in that back room all day, replacing bad circuit cards…”
    â€œI don’t mind it.”
    â€œYou should let me tell you more about my company,” Julie said. She waved a hand at Mouse’s empty cup. “Why don’t I get you some more tea, and we’ll chat?”
    â€œI don’t really like tea,” said Mouse.
    â€œOh- kay …something else to drink, then? A beer, maybe, or a glass of wine?”
    â€œWine,” said Mouse. “Some red wine would be OK.”
    â€”and she was home, in her apartment kitchen, the clock above the stove reading 11:55. She had a bad headache and she was starving. After a quick stop at the refrigerator—she found a slab of turkey roast and a brick of cheddar cheese and devoured them both standing up, chasing them with half a carton of milk—Mouse staggered into bed, too tired even to check her list to make sure she’d completed all her chores.
    The next day at work, Rudy started treating her differently. Not right away; when Mouse first came into the shop he said good morning the same as he always did. But after she came back from lunch (she didn’t remember going out), Rudy seemed tense, and that evening he didn’t reply when she wished him good night.
    That was Tuesday; and