A/N: Here's another experiment I've been toying around with. In the universe of real world alternate universes, they are either very well done or absolute crap. Of course, no author made any progress without going somewhere unfamiliar and trying things they have never done before. This is an early 21st century workplace AU. The adventure really begins in part two. Let me know if you think this is working. No pairings in particular, just a lot of season two -ish era friendship hijinks.

As always, thanks to BonesBird for her beta services. Review for sexy secretary Hoshi and good karma. More of her, hippie!Phlox, intern!Liz, VP!T'Pol, Travis, and Trip next time.

The Interview: Part One of Three

With only a few moments left until the stroke of high noon, a yellow cab meandered its way up the street towards its destination. A front had only recently rolled in from the ocean, leaving the metro thoroughly waterlogged. Presently, the rain fell from the sky in great precipitous sheets, rendering the already cramped avenue nearly inaccessible. The driver was really going too slowly for his own benefit, the passenger groused, if he really wants a gratuity.

The handsome British expatriate had only arrived in San Francisco the evening before with only two small valises filled with his necessaries. The flight had left him somewhat rejuvenated; filled with a boyish sense of adventure, he had immediately inquired into leasing a flat in the area. His demands had been simplistic and relatively few. He only asked for a fair and judicious price—indeed, if his father had taught him anything, it was to not settle for anything less than exceptional—relatively quiet neighbors, and a location within walking distance of the local libraries and transit stations.

His search had been fruitful, as he was scheduled to move into a central high rise the following weekend. Now, clutching and turning a pamphlet over in his hands, the only concern he had was being late for his first official job interview.

The brochure was modestly colored, sparingly decorated, with only the words of the company adorning the front cover. The reputation of Enterprise Innovations was renowned even across the pond; when he had told his mother of his plans to appeal for a position in their ranks, she had been skeptical that his admission would be as obstacle free as he promised. His father had been appalled that his decision had not been to continue the family legacy of service in the Royal Navy. Only his sister, Madeline, a successful veterinary student in her own right, had been supportive.

And now, armed with only a portfolio of what he had deemed to be the most promising results of his graduate research and a plucky sort of confidence that threatened to shatter at any moment, Malcolm Stuart Reed hailed for the cabbie to stop at the street corner.

He complied, only grunting over his intentionally meager fare that had been passed over the passenger's side seat. As soon as Malcolm stepped out onto the sidewalk, he was taken aback at the force of the gust that rollicked around his feet and had turned the busy pedestrian corridor into a veritable wind tunnel of sorts. In Britain, it had often rained in the afternoon, but not typically with so much force. Holding his briefcase above his head, he elected to make a mad dash for his destination.

By the time he reached the exterior of the massive glassed in structure, he was soaked to the skin. Upon trying the door handle, he found that it was locked. Within, he noted the drab interior of the lobby, woefully empty of any sort of person. Malcolm had done enough research to know that the headquarters of Enterprise Innovations was spread out in a great saucer shape, wherein cubicles and conference rooms filled the labyrinthine space. To the far side of the building facing the bay, two massive rectangular shapes jutted out, much more long than they were wide. These were reserved for experimentation, where the lucky few entrepreneurs were given living wages to hone their skills and make a product that might be sold as a prototype to larger conglomerates. While he was wary of the lack of job permanence, he knew that this might be one of the few places where he might get to tinker in his own space free of the interference of others. And that, after all he had endured at his previous place of employment, was what he truly needed.

If he could even get through the front door, that is.

Just as Malcolm was contemplating shouldering the door to force his way in, a small screen emerged from an adjacent panel. The company's logo—the shape of their building set against a background of stars—flickered. From the microphone on the rim of the screen, a computerized female voice prompted, "Identification, please."

He was taken aback. Fumbling for composure, Malcolm managed to stammer out, "Well, I…I'm not employed here as of yet, but I—"

A series of aggravated beeps sounded, and lights began to flash. For a brief moment, he considered running back to the safety of his hotel, but then a decidedly human face flashed before him.

She was young, he concluded, in her mid-twenties, an impossibly beautiful woman of Asiatic origin with high cheekbones and luminous eyes. Her hair was pinned back in an elaborate ponytail, and she wore a headset draped around one delicate ear. Offering him an exasperated grimace, the woman said, "I apologize. We're making a few upgrades to our security system, and at best it can be a little...tetchy."

Immediately, logistics and various formulas began to swim in Malcolm's mind. He could see how such a volatile computer program could lead to trouble down the line. He made a mental note to mention this in his interview, should the topic arise.

"What did you say your name was?" She interrupted his short-lived reverie.

"I didn't. But it's Reed. Malcolm Reed. I have an interview with a—" Here he paused, glancing down at the pamphlet to make sure he got the correct name. "Jonathan Archer?"

She furrowed her brows, turning to check something on the slender MacBook that was plugged in behind her. Just as Malcolm had just about reached the limit of his patience, telling her to open the door before he was swept away in the torrential downpour of the rainstorm, the secretary pushed a button on her desktop.

The latch unlocked with a snap.

"Down the corridor at the far end of the lobby, please. Turn left, then right, then left again. Follow the signs to the antechamber. Thank you for coming, Mr. Reed."

She barely had time to finish her sentence before he burst into the lobby, leaving wet footprints in his wake. His heavy leather shoes squelched loudly and his dress shirt was now thoroughly plastered to his abdomen. As Malcolm ran his fingers through his damp hair, he thought, so much for making a good first impression.

He found the correct hallway with ease, but as soon as he followed it for some distance he came upon a crossroads of sorts, with several corridors stretching out before him in the shape of a fan. Which way was he supposed to go, again?

A handful of employees passed him, their heads down, making their way to their destinations without the slightest inclination of the will to socialize. Many were dressed in a similar manner, conservatively, in either charcoal or black suit sets. Suddenly he felt out of place, albeit marginally, in his all brown ensemble. Several wore pins on their lapels of various colors—he immediately spotted red, yellow, and green—and he couldn't help but wonder what their purpose was.

"Young man!"

He turned instantly at the voice, which somehow managed to sound both gruff and approachable at the same time. A gentleman—in the loosest interpretation of the word—had harkened to him from an open door some ways down one of the halls.

Not knowing what else to do, he approached, and soon noticed that this man stood out even worse than he did. Malcolm could see now that he wore a garish paisley shirt and Bermuda shorts, his thick, curly hair only tamed with the limited effort of what suspiciously looked like a woman's headband. As he continued to speak, he noted a pronounced accent of eastern European origin.

"I need your assistance," he beckoned him through the doorway, and against his better judgment, Malcolm followed.

(to be continued)