Lepidoptimal 1.0

“Take this down, Barnabus,” instructed Serpentarius, Head Secretary Bird of the Southwest Branch.  Barnabus dutifully created a new document.   Serpentarius cleared his throat.

“I would like to address the unfortunate myth that continues to circulate among the higher-brained circles, one that perpetually undermines our best marketing efforts and clearly stands in the way of making our company a household name.  The common myth is that Monarch butterflies’ flight patterns are inherited, based on a combination of circadian rhythm and the position of the sun in the sky.  Naturally, a potential client who thinks migration routes are controlled by earth and sky remains unaware of the services Lepidoptimal Migrations offers and cannot even begin to consider us for their migratory logistical needs.  This matter has been addressed previously…”

Serpentarius trailed off and rubbed the bridge of his beak.  “That enough for right now, Barnabus.  I’ll continue that later.”  Barnabus nodded, a small flurry of bubbles around his gills the only sign of his quiet exasperation.  He added the dictation to the growing file of documents known as “pending” and returned to the email he had been composing.  The Head Secretary Bird had been more and more distracted at the office as of late, and he had been leaving more and more communications in mid-composition.  Barnabus knew that he and The Bos were under heavy pressure from the corporate office these days, but that wasn’t really anything new, and he didn’t think it explained all of Serpentarius’s flighty behavior.  But Barnabus wasn’t one to spend much time contemplating these things.  What he really needed to concentrate on was finishing the flirty email he was writing to that angelfish in Accounting.

***

Bos Grunnien stared at the sheet of paper on his desk with a heavy head.  By Animal Kingdom mandate, all companies had converted to a paperless system as soon as the technology made it feasible in the early 90′s, so the fact that Buffalo Thunder Development Company had sent him an actual letter through the mail indicated the significance of it.  A job offer.  A good one.  And it had come at the worst possible time.  Not that he hadn’t seen it coming—they had been gently courting him over the last three quarters—he just hadn’t seen it in writing.  What it made it worse is that he was tempted now.  He hadn’t been before.  He had been at Lepidoptimal for so long he couldn’t even imagine being elsewhere.  He was “The Bos” of the Southwest Branch—or at least that was the case until recently.  Rumors had started to leak last year that the company founder, Salazar the Caiman, was close to the end of his life and that it was very probable his son Sagan would soon begin acting as CEO.  The news had hardly interrupted business as usual, however, since most everyone at Lepidoptimal had been expecting it at some point.  Granted, no one was thrilled about it.  Yes, Sagan was a typical product of a cold, reptilian upbringing, and so his social skills left much to be desired.  Everyone acknowledged that.  Yes, some had hoped Salazar would give the reigns over to Legarto the Gator, his advisor of the last fifteen years, to give Sagan some more time to mature before he took over permanently, but ultimately they all seemed content to accept the inevitable.

But Bos Grunnien had known Sagan as a child, and he had seen the deeper evil lurking underneath.  He foresaw a dark future for the company.  And he could not work for Sagan.

The yak looked back down at the sheet of paper.  But could he work for a buffalo?

Advertisement