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"Another Day" By: Cailean Darkwater
Site: www.caileandarkwater.com
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He clocked on, 8 sharp as he always did, strode into
the office, entered his cubicle and powered up his
terminal. Some people working in another company
might have been late, even just occasionally, but
not him. No delaying event entered his life,
actually, no adverse event ever entered his life,
whatever time of the day. It wasn't in the schedule,
which meant it wasn't part of the Plan.
Anything that didn't affect the Plan (which wasn't
much, being such a widespread and intricate Plan) was
ignored. Anything that interfered with the Plan (such
as a late worker), was deemed counterproductive,
henceforth not tolerated. Working for the Corporation
had its benefits!
He liked his work. He'd been told about the Plan in
his induction, about how it kept everything going
like clockwork. He was proud to be a part of the Plan
that kept everything running so smoothly. The
Corporation's Plan allowed the seamless flow of
Events, organizing everything behind the scenes.
Like clockwork.
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The robot smoothly activated, lights gradually
blinking on, the rising hum of servomotors spinning
up to speed, relays switching to new configurations.
The faint smell of ozone.
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He'd been in Recruitment for a while now, everyone
in-house knew it was the fast-track, if you did well
you could write your own ticket to a good position
anywhere. Once you proved your worth - earned your
spurs, as it were - to the Corporation in Recruitment,
you were virtually rocketing up the corporate ladder.
Recruitment was difficult and esoteric work. It took
skill to classify the different units and divine their
possible use in the Plan. (It was policy to use the
term "unit" for the same reason that laboratory
hamsters are unnamed; no emotional attachment that
way.)
Really effective Recruiters found units and modified
them ahead of time, preparing for the future steps of
the Plan. This was quite an art, and the powers that
be in the Corporation really concentrated on people
who had an intuitive grasp of the Big Picture. Units
were altered by Events, created by other individual
units or Special Operations. There was a symbiosis
between Recruiters. The Event you created with your
unit that helped another Recruiter's unit to be
altered might allow you to create an Event later that
would affect another unit under your care. It paid to
scratch each other's backs.
It was teamwork. They were all working in line with
the Plan.
Like clockwork.
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The robot began its task, every movement totally
efficient, unbelievably accurate, working in seamless
harmony with the rest of its steel siblings.
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"Request for a #8276 in Operation 7924. Psych profile
follows. All Recruiters, please present suitable
candidates."
Looking through the basic unit type and the
accompanying psychological profile, he knew he had
the perfect candidate for the operation.
"Request for Operation 7924 filled by Recruiter #5062.
Thank you for your co-operation."
His co-worker next to him in #5063 asked him "How did
you get it so fast?"
Replying with professionalism and confidence he
revealed his technique. They weren't competing in
this organization. "Think of them as acronyms. Instead
of a #8276, it's an LMJ."
"LMJ?"
"Loud Mouthed Jerk. Then you check the psych profiles,
and see which one is the closest match. LMJs are
common, but rarely called in for much precise work,
occasionally the call for a mob of them for some
Events. Sheer chance that I had what they wanted,
sheer chance."
"Ah, you're kidding yourself, stop being so modest! No
chance at all, you're just one with the Plan. You're
going to go far, son. Really far. You know what's
going on."
Uplifted by his colleague's vote of confidence for his
advancement, he sat back at his terminal and brought
up the details of the Event. Pity he'd never got the
guy's name, it just never came up in the office.
Hmmm, the Event was the #8276 slamming into a #0408
and #0411 unit with his car, deactivating them. It
would be deemed a tragic accident, of course, and this
Event would lead the surviving #8276 to another Event,
the unit's self-deactivation. Such an Event would
cause other Events to ripple out within the units
related to all three of the deactivated units. These
Events would cause improvements to road safety against
other unit deactivation. Consequently, a key unit that
would have been deactivated without these improvements
would be spared.
Like clockwork.
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The robot picked up the components before it,
assembled them into one complete form, finely
machined pieces slotting together exactly. Each
movement never changing, always the same twists and
turns, perfect in motion.
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The few must suffer for the sake of the many. It was
all for the greater good. (The term "death" had been
removed from official Corporation terminology. The
term "deactivation" had been deemed far more
productive and efficient.)
He didn't know how they would get the #0408 (RAG;
Rebellious Angst-ridden Girl) together with the #0411
(MWS; Mild-mannered Wage Slave). Both of the units
seemed completely inappropriate for any type of
social interface. But he didn't have their psych
profiles. He had to handle his own part in this Event,
other Recruiters would handle theirs. Time to get to
work.
He had it. As well as some minor situations he could
arrange, he had two units which would alter the
specific #8276 to the appropriate state for the Event.
First, after the unit had performed wage-earning
activities for higher designated units, he would be
approached in his favourite bar by a #8352 unit (STD;
Sexy Teaser of Drinks) who would ply him for cocktails
and leave after she was sated, lowering his meagre
funds without any return on his investment. Result to
unit #8276: increased anger, frustration,
blood/alcohol level, decreased feelings of duty and
compassion. Next, the #8276 meets a #4989 (SAD;
Speeding Abusive Driver) while driving home. Result to
unit #8276: increases in frustration, anger and
vehicle speed. Specially prepared mechanical faults in
unit #8276's car cause said unit to lose control of
the car at a critical juncture, causing the successful
deactivations of units #0408 and #0411. He set the
wheels in motion; it would be ready by tonight. Event
completed.
Like clockwork.
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The robot had finished its work, not wasting a single
joule of energy with unnecessary motion. Precise,
perfect. It moved on to its next job, different
pieces, same motions.
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All part of the Plan.
Barring UEs, of course.
They had been cropping up far too often for the
powers-that-be to ignore as "acceptable inefficiency".
It was believed that these UEs, Unknown Events, were
caused by a shadowy reflection of the Corporation, an
organization pitted against the Plan. In essence, an
anti-Corporation whose Plan was the destruction of the
Plan. He refused to believe that such people existed.
The Plan was humanity's only hope - imagine what life
would be like if things just happened, no control, no
organization, no Plan. Such an existence would be
indescribably chaotic, no underlying reason or logic
behind anything. He shivered at the thought, such a
thing was anathema to him.
He was thoughtful as he left his cubicle, preparing
for his trip home. Scheduled to be uneventful, as
always. He thought of arranging a "chance meeting"
with an old friend from his college days. As long as
it didn't interfere with the Plan, it should be fine.
On the train ride home he read through the
Corporation's edition of Aldous Huxley's "Brave New
World". He found the utopia described therein e
nchanting, comforting, a society that worked, all
people in all strata of society determined to fulfil
the Plan. For the greater good.
Like clockwork.
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The robot, now in stand-by mode, ran through a
self-diagnosis procedure. Finding minute
temperature-alteration cracks and repetitive stress
points, quickly repairing these minor flaws carefully
and methodically.
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Looking over the aisle, he couldn't help but notice a
young woman in black; hair, clothes, nails. She was
reading the same book, although a conventional
version, containing the sections that were considered
anti-Plan, which had been removed from his copy. She
looked at him, nailed him to the fibreglass wall of
the carriage. Deep electric blue eyes; cerulean orbs,
held him rooted to the spot. Why was she looking at
him? Why did her eyes show so much animosity? He was
just another face in the crowd, what made him stand
out? Why did she see him different to anyone else?
It was hard thinking of this living, breathing human
being by a unit designation. She was real, she was
THERE, right in front of him. At the office it was
easy; units were designated with code numbers, not
names. Units were deactivated, people didn't die.
Here, in the midst of humanity, the knife-sharp edges
of the Plan started to blur. He clenched his book
with trembling hands, priest grasping for holy
scripture.
"I know what you did."
He could hear the soft whisper of anger in her velvet
tones, accusing him, focussing her wrath upon him,
sunray shining through magnifying glass.
He felt like an ant.
"You TOY with people's lives, twist them, MANIPULATE
them for your MASTERS. And you only have a vague
notion WHY. You are an ignorant fool; while you
control other people like puppets you are just a
PUPPET yourself. At least I know they are messing
with me, and I'm not going to TAKE it any MORE!"
He'd found one. Someone that opposed the Plan, and
worse, knew far too much about it. They weren't
mythical - they were real. The enemy. He blurted out,
almost by reflex in his shocked state: "It's all part
of the Plan."
Like clockwork.
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The robot suddenly was patterned with tiny rust spots
over the featureless metal, growing larger by the
moment. Self-repair systems were initiated to stave
of this new threat to the tireless worker. An alert
flashed through silicon mind, "DANGER!"
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With raging fires subsumed underwater; hissing and
sending up great gouts of scalding steam, she
retorted: "LISTEN to yourself. Whose Plan is it? Why
is it so freaking good? Why are They right, with
Their Plan? It's not MY plan, not YOURS, either.
Freak, WAKE UP and smell the REALITY, bud. You're
just a slave like the rest of us, but while we are
slaves through ignorance, you know the score and you
still SUBMIT to the masters. You have CHOSEN to be a
fool."
He had to concentrate on the Plan, its beauty, its
purpose, its comfort. Her foul lies were getting to
him. He had to remind himself that it was not up to
him to ask why.
Like clockwork.
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The robot saw the rust race across its surface,
leaving holes and crumbling framework in its wake.
Inside the inner workings came a metallic screech of
gears clashing discordantly. Humming of servomotors
faltering slightly, occasional lights burnt out.
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She left at the next station and he couldn't let her
go. Not only was there major kudos for bringing in
such evidence, it really would help the Plan, remove
the possibilities of UEs from the equation. Noticing
that he was following her, she broke into a run,
striding speedily into the concealing night. He
picked up the pace. She opposed the Plan, but once
she understood, she would help them in the
Corporation. Once the Corporation showed people the
magnificence of the Plan, they saw the light of
reason, saw the wondrous order that the Plan brought.
Like clockwork.
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The robot perceived its self-repair systems repairing
holes within its form, patching holes, restoring
integrity to the unit. Threat neutralized for the
moment, it sought for a logical explanation for this
degradation of its substance.
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Just a little out of his reach, he'd almost caught up
with her as the road curved sharply. Bright
headlights illuminating sable cloth on dead-white
skin.
Suddenly she about-faced and grappled him into the
undergrowth. Behind them, a scream of tyres,
thundering smash of metal on wood. The jack-knifed
sedan slowly sped off again unsteadily. Scorch marks
on the road and the smell of burned rubber surrounded
the place where they had been locked in pursuit.
Around the track lay the highway pickets, red cat's
eye plastic sparkling in the darkness, wood strewn
around like corpses blasted by violent explosion.
She got up from the greenery, brushed herself off,
but she didn't run away. Just stood defiantly in
front of him.
"You saved me."
The shock tore through him - he had almost died, and
she had averted that terminal event. Wordlessly she
showed him a dossier, her picture emblazoned on the
front of the innocuous beige folder.
"UNIT #0408-80-9249. Scheduled for deactivation by a
unit #8276 in Operation #7924."
The fury was back in her voice as she recited the
Event that described her scheduled death, mixed with
regret and pity. She'd found out the when and where,
and had avoided her execution. He thought the aspect
that infuriated her most was that she had been
reduced to a simple number, to be removed from the
equation of Life at a whim.
She held forth another dossier, photo glinting on
beige in the flickering streetlight.
UNIT #0411-15-5062
His number. His photo.
The Corporation had set him up to be deactivated
(screw the euphemisms!), to DIE. He was merely
another pawn to be sacrificed in another move of the
great game. Bloody heart ripped out of still-living
chest, burnt in holy homage to the Plan. He imagined
all the people whom he had reduced to numbers,
killed for "the greater good." Not to mention the
countless individuals warped and tortured from their
choices, enslaved by the Corporation's wishes.
Regret and anger ran through him; fire and ice
hopelessly intertwined. But she could see the signs
stamped upon his face, she embraced him firmly,
lovingly. They were both crying, tears of anguish,
tears of rage. Blinking back the drops, she looked
deeply within his eyes, and he knew her, he could
feel her. A person who cared about him. Not a number,
never a number. She whispered softly, voice
tear-racked:
"Welcome back to the human race."
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The robot searched for the threat, but the
self-diagnosis program intervened. "DANGER" The rust
had returned, destroying integral structure faster
than before. The unit seized up with rattles and
clanks, vibrating madly, falling supine upon the
ground. Shuddering, breaking itself apart.
From the broken shell a man arose, eyes wide with
wonder, as if seeing the world for the first time,
seeing life through fresh eyes. He saw the robots
slaving away perfectly at their tasks, never
changing, and knew that this shrine of stability was
not his place. An open door led to a lush meadow,
cool breeze blowing lightly on his bare skin. He left
this world of steel and glass and entered another.
He did not look back.
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"Request for a #0411 in Recruitment, cubicle #5062.
Existing position holder rendered untraceable due to
UE in Operation #7924. Need another."
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(c)opyright 2000 by Cailean Darkwater
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