The connection being abruptly severed, a disorienting and disjointed experience. Sitting on the chair talking to Shaker while still wrapped in the cocoon of the web. And then waking up, gasping for air, surrounded by little rows of blinking lights in a space the size of a coffin. Not knowing if this is a dream now or if that was a dream then. Dreaming now that my dreams then were what this dream was leading to now. Resolved to the fact that everything had ended, knowing in my heart death had already come, but clawing at the walls anyway and clinging to life. Little connections running from my arms and neck and torso. And then, however long it took, the despair and chaos passing.
The walls pressing in. The lights blinking in their predictable sets.
Access, access. Access denied. What's available. Workstation access. Allowed. 21:05 hours. Approximately nine hours until the shift starts. Shaker, you've gone too far. Came in with both eyes open, told you that. You've gone too far. Employment contract. Should be right there. There.
From: William Macarthy
To: Director Harold Shaker
CC: Human Resources
Re: Unauthorized Revocation of Access
Mr. Shaker,
This evening at approximately 21:00 you unilaterally decided to remove my access to the grid due to events wholly contained within the grid. Per my employment contract, attached, such an action is a violation of Section 4, Clause 18 as well as Section 6, Clause 2. I appreciate that you were operating under stressful circumstances but your decision was both hasty and impulsive, as well as a violation of my employment contract, and therefore I must insist that my access to the grid be reinstated as soon as possible.
Regards,
William Macarthy
Now to wait. Drifting in and out of sleep. Never able to sleep well out here. Too claustrophobic. 00:30. Nothing. No response yet. What to do if they don't respond? Nothing rash, not yet, hasn't been that long. 02:45 Nothing. 03:05 Nothing. 03:35. Nothing. 03:45 Nothing. 03:52 Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. 04:30 a response.
From: Carolyn Hunter
To: William Macarthy
CC: Director Harold Shaker
Re: Unauthorized Revocation of Access
Mr. Macarthy,
I am directly responsible for handling these specific personnel decisions. I'll set up a meeting at 00:30 tomorrow morning after your shift in order to discuss the actions taken by Director Shaker as well as the steps needed to reinstate your access. Please let me know if this time is acceptable. Thank you. Carol
Carol. Carolyn Hunter. Not familiar. Haven't run into a situation where she'd come up out here. Must keep her head down inside, as well. Probably sensible. Hopefully. Sending back a response in the affirmative. Trying to get some more sleep. Can't. Not good. Today's going to be rough.
At 05:30 the side sliding open and the connections disengaging and retracting back into the walls. No need for this morning's calisthenics, all the stiffness worked out hours ago. Crawling out, grabbing the ladder, fifteenth row up. A bunch of other pods open as well. No one coming out yet, still busy getting mentally together and stretching. Looking left and right, pods fifty rows high, extending in both directions.
First to the decontamination chamber. Standing, spread eagle, arms up, a couple blasts of air. And then out the other side. Bins of clothes, different sizes. Grabbing a pair of briefs, socks, undershirt and a one piece zip up jumpsuit. Then a pair of boots and gloves and onto the transport.
Whisked away, first one to the hanger. Grabbing a nutrition bar and thermos, tool cart and electronic itinerary. Mostly just PM. Cleaning air filters on the mining equipment, checking fluids, greasing zerks. Same ole, same ole.
10:00, tread starting to split on this one, welding it back together. Fluids fine, air filter cleaned, checks out.
13:00, burst hydraulic hose. Not repairable. Plenty in stock now. Remove the burst hose, create requisition. Going to need fluid, too. Submit. Grab another nutrition bar, grab a new thermos.
17:00, requisition parts received. Connecting the new hose, adding fluid, bleeding the system. Test. Tests good.
21:00, right floodlight dim. Bulb fine. Huh. Fuse fine. High resistance in the wire. Plenty of wire in stock now, newbies came in with all kinds of goodies. Replace that section of wire, solder it together, shrink wrap. Good. Grab another nutrition bar, get a new thermos.
23:55, easy day, no surprises. Returning the tool cart and back on the transport. Tossing the clothes in the chute. Decontamination. Where's an available one? There, seventh row up. Cozy little tomb. Reconnecting. Meeting in 15. Ready? No. Meeting in 10. Ready? No. Meeting in. There it is.
Carol's office a rendition of a highrise penthouse overlooking the ocean. The entire outside wall a window. Blue skies, midday, white sand beach. The woman sitting behind a desk wearing some sort of smart looking business suit.
“Mr. Macarthy,” she says, “please take a seat.”
In front of her desk a plain, backless, three-legged stool. A penitent's chair. And my gloves were covered in grease and oil, the coveralls the same. Going to be like that, eh?
Walking up to the stool and pulling it closer to the desk. Taking a seat and putting my dirty elbows on that nice, stained hardwood desk. Reaching out a gloved hand.
“Ms. Hunter, so nice to meet you, I appreciate you taking the time.” Looking at my outstretched hand. “Oh, my apologies.” Pulling off the glove and dropping it on the desk. Offering her my now ungloved hand.
“I was looking through your file,” the woman ignoring the outstretched hand, “and I didn't manage to find out your rank.”
“Here? Don't have one. That was all before my time. Same reason my contract is a bit different than what you're probably used to.”
“Yes,” she says, turning to a screen and starting to flip through, “its definitely not the current version.” Some more scrolling. “Oh, I see now, you were part of the group that came directly after the Bonneville. That does explain.”
Peering at me, trying to figure me out. My hand hanging outstretched. Finally reaching out and taking it.
“Well, I've looked at your contract,” she says, “and we are going to restore your access. It was fairly ironclad, I've never seen that language before in one of these.” Came in clear eyed. “However, before doing so, we have several concerns that need to be addressed. Director Shaker was fairly insistent.”
“And what are those? I'd love to help.”
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“Mainly it has to do with what happened last night.” Flipping through a few things on her screen. “I'm aware of what you did at House Haven, and your general reputation before that, and due to that Director Shaker is concerned that you, in fact, were the one responsible for releasing all those creatures.”
“I didn't, I told him that.”
“Is there anyone who can corroborate that?” Who are your accomplices.
“When they decided to shut down the guilds and take over all that nice vacant real estate,” tough keeping the bitterness out of my voice, “the entire network that I'd spent years creating, and all the people that I'd been working with. It all fell apart.
“The Warrior guild's still there. Sure Stormhawk's in it, but that's where a bunch of 'em stayed. Same thing with the Mage Tower and House Mink. Or Haven and the Druids. What we'd been doing? Totally sealed up, inaccessible. Years worth of effort gone. No base of operations left and all sorts of ancient fights, long buried, coming back. Spiraling out of control. So everything splintered.
“And the worst part is, a bunch of 'em blame me for what happened. A little bit at least. I don't mean to sound conceited, but when I spoke, people listened. They thought I should've seen it coming. Maybe I should've. I mean, we all knew something was up. So you asking me that question, I'm sorry, but that really pisses me off.”
My harangue over, she sat looking at me and said simply, “That's why we think you did it.”
“Yeah, I'm aware. It still didn't happen that way.”
Taking a deep breath, pursing her lips, and then flipping back to her screen. “So we need to investigate, but we also need to let you back in. And if we do that the concern is that you'll cover up whatever it is you did, if you actually did it, and tie up any loose ends.” Looking at me square in the face. “I'll tell you point blank. I've been told not to let you back in. I've been told to give you the runaround for as long as I can. But you don't seem like you'd put up with it.”
“I wouldn't. That would be a serious mistake.”
“The Director has certain expectations, but the man really isn't equipped to understand the human element. The last thing we need is someone like you, with your aptitude, and your experience, put in a position where you feel the only recourse is disruptive action. How long do you think it would take you to cripple the entire mining operation?”
“The thought never entered my head.”
“And how long to shutdown the entire transport system, basewide. Or interrupt the power to the greenhouses, or the labs, or even something as simple as the laundry facility.”
“You have a wild imagination.”
“We'd have to keep you locked in a pod and under guard, with manpower we'd rather not spare. And for what? When I looked in your personnel file, nothing but glowing reviews. So why take the risk, why turn a good employee bad? Especially over something that happened in the grid. I mean, what goes on in the grid isn't really what we're all concerned with here, is it? At the end of the day.” Pausing. “So I'm going to let you back in, but I can't let you back in like you were.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means, “ she says, “I'm going to put your current character, William, on inactive status for a little bit. And I'll assign you another one until we're done with the investigation.”
“Why the fuck do you think I'd agree to that?”
“Because you have no choice.” Holding up her finger, forestalling my response. “Because after reading the language of your contract it allows me enough wiggle room to do that, with or without your approval.”
This bitch.
“Haven't you ever wanted to be a different class?” Affecting an innocent expression. “How about being able to cast magic this time around, even if its only for a few days. How does that sound? A break from the ordinary.”
She really knows how to push people's buttons. Got assigned Thief on day one, never had a choice. The system analyzes people and then gives them what it wants. Seven years fighting goddamn spellcasters. Seven years painfully learning as much as possible, and still only knowing bits and pieces of what each type can do. Some much more than others, some hardly at all.
“I'll be able to cast magic?”
“Yes.” Smiling. Has me, knows she has me. “I'll take an inactive character and assign it to you. Let's see, what would be a good fit.” Scrolling on her screen. “That one looks, not good. No. Sort of. Not really.”
Continuing down the list of not reallys and sort ofs until she hit one.
“This one,” she says, slowly, “this one is actually a really good match. Not very common.” Tapping on the screen, going further in, breaking out in a huge grin. “That's very interesting. Serendipitous, even.” Laughing in delight. “That'll do nicely.”
“I'll be able to cast magic?” Just to confirm.
“Absolutely,” she says, “without a doubt.”
“If I've got no choice, I've got no choice.”
“That's the spirit,” the woman laughing. “Let me unassign the current one. Hmm,” shaking her head, “this is going to take awhile. Let's see your schedule. Shit. Listen, I did this favor for you, now you need to do a favor for me.”
“You did a favor for me. When? Extortion isn't exactly a favor.”
“Just listen,” she says, waving her hand. “Director Shaker doesn't want you going back in and assigning these characters is going to take some time. I don't know how long, hours at least. So I'm going to play with your schedule. You're going to be busy, but then you'll have a bunch of time off.”
“A double?”
“Quadruple. But then you'll get six days off in a row. You'll be able to blend in with the newbies, take in the sights, take it easy, do whatever you want.”
A quadruple. That'd be a first. Had done triples before when things had gotten really busy - going to be a total zombie by the last day - but then six days in. She still gets to give me the runaround. Got completely rolled.
“Fine.”
“Great,” she says, “we're all set. Your next shift starts in less than five hours, get what sleep you can. Initiating disconnection.”
Moments later waking in the pod, my breathing steady.
Good cop, bad cop routine. Shaker must be upset his event schedule got thrown off and now he's using me as a scapegoat to make himself feel better. Probably annoyed they haven't found those items from the prize chest, either. Seeing if they can get me to crack. Take your time searching, no chance of finding them in the sewers. Whoever opened those cages, wherever you are, good job sticking a finger in his eye. Happy to take the blame. Blamed for all sorts of stuff, real and imagined, can manage just fine. 01:10, sleep definitely coming easier tonight.
A long day, feeling it. Coming back to the pod, bone tired, but accomplished a bunch. Two more days and then six days off. Maybe try and schedule out time like this a couple times a year. Work a bunch then get a decent amount of days off in a row, get an expedition going, something different. Instead of moping around in some bar, screwing some deadfish hooker. 00:15, tired enough to sleep proper in this thing.
Real exhausted after today, had been real long. Clothing down the chute, decontamination. Climbing the ladder to an open pod. One more day. Back in the pod, passing out.
Waking up rested. Excited. The day also really productive, not even feeling tired and only a few more hours left. Magic. Throwing fire or who knows what. Scary as hell but damn cool. Need to get a message out to Holly but they'll be watching, guaranteed. Well, whatever, no point then. Maybe play with them a bit, but deal with that later. Not going to be wanted by the guards the entire time, can do whatever. No need to sneak around everywhere. Scratch together enough coin to get some decent grub, maybe get a bottle and make an ass of myself in public. Sounds nostalgic. Truly a vacation.
23:55, done, last hour dragged. Too much energy, kept checking the clock every five minutes. Returning tools, giving the cart a push and fast walking out. Throwing clothes down the chute, decontamination. All the way up there, forty-some odd rows. Maybe another further in, nah, no point, get climbing. Tak tak tak up the ladder. Getting to the top, squeezing in. Fitting each connection. Authenticating. Access.
Not right, too compressed, leaking out. Wrong. Hold on, stay together, don't fight too much, settle in. Gnawing, insatiable hunger chewing at my stomach. Haven't eaten in forever. Mouth dry, papery, leathery. Almost staying up but these legs have no strength, sinking down. Leaning against the corner of something, a stringy mop of ragged strands spilling out onto the floor. Arms, wane, thin. Way too thin. Hands, small and skeletal. Clothing, rags, stretched and now torn apart. A keen, soft, distant and wretched growing louder. Filling everything.
The lights turning on. Footsteps coming closer, moving toward me. The sound of people surrounding me, saying things. Seeming panicked. And then, mercifully, the sound and light fading out.