A dim trickle of light struggled out of the fixture fastened to the ceiling of the camp’s disciplinary office. Every drill camp had one and they were all the same, a small windowless shed built from the same steel panels that made up the bulk majority of the company’s mobile assets. Inside was stark, the floor plan was barely big enough for a single occupant with the only piece of furniture being a dreadfully uncomfortable stool bolted to the floor.
Bernard wiped away the sweat beading on his brow. It was hot. Intentionally so. Torturously so. The air within the oppressive cube was saturated with the stank of the sweat of countless workers who had, over the years, found themselves in this exact same unpleasant situation.
The old battered speaker installed on the wall before him crackled to life. “Employee 1578226.” an unkind voice began, “You have been accused of one count of attempting to incite a break from policy as well as one count of gross insubordination. How do you plead?”
Two counts in one that’s not good, thought Bernard. Each employee was entitled to three demerits in their entire career, and here he was about to pick up his first two so early in his career. “I… may I ask what these charges are about?”
The voice replied coldly and without hesitation, “Report number 26895-3-13 indicated that you protested cessation of drilling at well location three based on unfounded beliefs that water could be found past the policy prescribed depth of 250 meters. Report number 26895-4-1 indicated that you broke into a verbal disagreement with your foreman over this same issue during the muster meeting which was intended to begin production on well number four. How do you plead?”
“I was only trying to help, to get water!” Bernard proclaimed impotently.
Pages could be heard rustling through the worn and abused speaker before the uncaring voice returned “According to your employee records, this is the third dig of your career. Is this correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.” responded Bernard.
“And yet you feel as though you are in a position to question policies developed over decades?” The voice responded sternly.
“I.. well…” Bernard stammered.
“How do you plead 1578226?”
Bernard’s heart sank, this was not going well at all. Worse yet, it was so fucking hot. He’d heard stories of the discipline cube, rumor was that nobody ever came out innocent. It was impossible, the whole system was designed to break you. Even if you were innocent, even if you wanted to fight, eventually you’d be roasted into a confession.
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“...Guilty” Bernard stated meekly.
“Excellent.” the voice replied “Please place your palm on the reader in front of you”
A previously barren glass panel nested in the wall beneath the speaker lit up with the outline of a pale blue human hand. He reached out and laid his open palm upon it, it was surprisingly cool to the touch, at least it seemed to be compared to the hellishness of the rest of this room. As his palm pressed against the glass it flashed a vibrant blue and the speaker once again crackled to life.
“Your confession has been recorded. Due to your cooperation we have elected to only apply one demerit to your file. Do not let this happen again.” With that the speaker cut silent, no crackles, no buzzes, nothing. A clear sign that the investigator had departed and that his fate in this matter had been sealed.
SCREEEEeee-eeEEEeee-EEEeeech, the agonizingly under lubricated door which acted as the portal between Bernard’s office and the outside world screamed it’s way open, tearing his attention back into the current moment. At the threshold he could see only a thin silhouette against the eye gougingly bright sky that back-lit the intruder.
“Who?” was all that came out of Bernard as he shielded his eyes with his forearm.
“Are you okay boss?” The unknown interloper replied.
SCREEEEeee-eeEEEeee-EEEeeech, Bernard winced as the door swung back shut, clearing the room of the sun’s merciless blaze. “Oh, Mo, it’s you. Yes… just reminiscing is all.”
“Ah, about good things I hope.”
“I suppose.” Bernard exhaled deeply, “Life changing at the very least. But back to business, is it that time already?”
“It very much is, boss.” Mo set the day’s report on Bernard’s desk. Mo was the crew’s shift supervisor, a position near and dear to the company’s heart. He was good at his job, great even, and a deeply fair man. But, supervisors… In this company, they were a breed of their own.
Generations ago the company had started an orphanage as a PR stunt. Top brass was in some deep trouble due to an alarming number of children left parentless due to deaths on the drill rigs. So, to remedy the situation they took the kids in. It worked. People bought it. And the children were cared for. Fed, bathed, sheltered. But their schooling was all about the company. Propaganda you could say. And the most obedient, the most stalwart defenders of the companies' cause? Earmarked for the coveted role of supervisor on crews across the sands.
“Anything special to report?”
“Nothing special boss. We’ve reached a depth of one hundred and thirteen meters, still only rock recovered.” Mo responded.
“I see” Bernard replied, “You are dismissed then. Have a good evening.”
“Of course boss” Mo turned stiffly and exited Bernard’s office, the door twisting his patience to its limit with its agonizing wails as it traversed each of its directions. As if to taunt him, his eyes darted to the last requisition order submitted to corporate. All items approved. All except a small can of lubricant. Fuck.
Bernard grabbed Mo’s report off of his desk and leaned back in his chair to review it. One hundred and thirteen. Not very deep. Not even half of the way. “How am I going to pull this off.” He murmured to himself, his mind grasping for some plan to make eight fifty before he was caught.