"Come in," he heard a deep voice say. It reminded him of those old soundbytes they used to piece together back in secondary school; specifically the one that went "This is CNN." Deep, basso. Commanding. The guy was probably a hard ass. Bryant stood there a moment, trying to decide if this was a good idea. The door opened slightly before he could make up his mind. A large man with dark skin appeared at the opening.
"I said, 'come in.'" He opened the door all the way and gestured to a chair in front of a small, cluttered desk.
"Is this NBT?" Bryant asked cautiously.
"Nascent Bionetic Technologies, yes. You are here about the interview?"
"Yes," Bryant replied sheepishly.
"Then would you please come in."
Bryant obeyed. From in front of the desk, he glanced around the room. It was a dump of a place. Plaster was peeling everywhere. Books were piled on shelves on every wall. The window behind the desk was tiny and superfluous. It hardly let in any light through the brown, half drawn blinds. On the desk were numerous stacks of paper, held down by equally numerous paperweights. A large metallic fan circulated warm air in a corner, between bookcases.
"Nice place," Bryant said at last while his host took a seat behind the desk.
"It's a dump," the man responded.
Should've gone with my first instinct, Bryant thought.
"Joseph Campbell," the man said, holding out his hand across the desk.
"Annakin Bryant," Bryant responded, shaking his hand. "Joseph Campbell, as in--"
"No relation," Campbell said abruptly. "Please. Have a seat. You're making me nervous."
Bryant sat down and opened up his portfolio to fish out a resume, but Campbell didn't seem interested.
"So you're interested in a job," he asked jovially.
"That's why I'm here," Bryant replied.
"Do you know what it is we do here, Mr. Bryant?"
He looked around the room before responding. "Not really."
"Good. I'm sick of applicants marching in here thinking they know what it is we do. I need a yes-man, Bryant. Someone we can mold. Do you smoke?"
"No," he replied guarded.
"Me neither. Filthy habit. Are you that kind of man?"
"I'm sorry, could you repeat the question?"
"Are you a yes-man, Bryant? Yes or no?"
"Yes," Bryant answered hastily. "Yes, I'm a yes-man. I can be a yes-man. If...that's what you need."
Campbell leaned back in his chair, his body motionless. His arms were folded across his chest, and he wore an ear to ear grin that really disconcerted Bryant.
"Who named you that," Campbell asked.
"Bryant?"
"Annakin."
"Oh," Bryant shook his head to clear it. "My...my mother named me that."
"She liked that flick? What do you call it?"
"Uh...Star Wars?"
"Yes," Campbell said. It was the kind of drawn out Yeeees that started before you finished your sentence. "That must have been one of her favorites."
"I never asked her, Mr. Campbell."
"Hmph," Campbell grunted.
"Sir," Bryant said, handing his resume across the desk. "I think you'll find I'm quite qualified for the position that you're offering..."
"And what position is that, precisely? Hmm?"
Bryant paused. "The one...that you're offering..."
"Mr. Bryant, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. You have no idea what you're doing here."
"But I do, Mr. Campbell, and if..."
"No, you don't, Mr. Bryant, and that is precisely why you are here. If you knew what it was we do here, you wouldn't want to be here. If you had any idea what was going on in the world around you, then you would not want to be here. You are only here because I sent for you."
"Mr. Campbell, I don't understand."
Campbell laughed. "That's what I'm talking about, Bryant. You don't understand, and that's what I need right now." Campbell put on a pair of glasses. Bryant hadn't seen glasses since he was a kid in the Surbs. Apparently Campbell needed them to read something from off his desk. "There is much more going on here than you are aware of. This," Campbell looked up, gesturing at the room with his hands, "does not even qualify as a front. It is the neural center of our deception."
"I don't see," Bryant tried to interject before being cut off.
"You don't see because we don't want you to see. Sooner or later you will see, but it will be on our timetable. We will dictate the terms, until you are beyond them. The rest will then be up to you."
Papers rustled from the force of the fan as one of the paperweights slid off it's stack. Campbell raced to correct it before papers could fly everywhere.
"We offer a generous benefits package, double the salary of your previous job, and one week of vacation annually." Campbell leaned forward, with that insatiable grin.
"I have no previous job. I've been unemployed for six years, Mr. Campbell."
"What do you say, Mr. Bryant. Yes, or no?"
"Well..." Bryant knew he had no time to think. Too long a pause, and he'd...he'd what? It occured to him. He didn't have a choice. He was going to be a yes-man, because NBT was going to make him their yes-man. For the first time, it dawned on him that he could actually be a part of something bigger than himself. He looked up from his portfolio, into Campbell's eyes and smiled, though still sheepishly. "Yes. My answer is yes, Mr. Campbell."
"Excellent, Mr. Bryant!" Campbell laughed. They both stood up and shook hands. "I expect you to report here to begin work at eight o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. Is that acceptable?"
"I thought you said this was just a deception of some kind..." Bryant started to answer, before Campbell caught him again.
"Bryant, you're just supposed to say yes."