Rasp’s earliest memory was of being in a crib with a dark blue blanket covered in white stitched anchors. He peered out from between the white slats and a sudden bloom of hard orange light seeped into the small room. His small heart pounded like a fist-trapped bird. Rasp had never been one for screaming, so instead he crouched in the corner of the crib gripping the edge of the thin foam mattress. It was the last time he had experienced aloneness. Not loneliness, he had experienced that plenty. Aloneness.
The screens that lined the corridor flashed RUMPUS ROOM 4:30 at him as he walked by. Another meeting with HR. Men, probably on Mars, had filled the screens around the room and chided him.
“2544-46? Right. You must stop distracting your coworker with antics. We have pre-approved comedy routines for you to view during your recreational hour. That is the appropriate time for jokes. You know that productivity is positivity.”
Another voice.
“You really must be sure to clock your time appropriately, 2544-46, the only appropriate forms of DNA for the scan are skin cells and blood.”
“2544-46. You are short on your quota again. You must harvest at least 600 micrograms of usable powder per shift.”
“Sleeping through shift meetings is unacceptable, 2544-46. We have pharmaceuticals for Commissary credit available for your pleasure and enhancement if you are tired. ”
The door to the Rumpus Room slid open. A huge table made of real wood and real glass hovered in the middle of the huge room. A real man stood at the head, tapping a paper-thin screen that clung to his fingertips. His tongue pushed at the inside of his cheek as he tapped away at the tablet. He wore a body mesh and hydration apparatus so new and expensive that Rasp had only seen them advertised on the more expensive Pornographic Art Films. Protects against radiation, micro asteroids, toxic waste, acid rain, depression, anxiety, sleeplessness, aging, and MORE! The man did look very productive and healthy. His eyes shone, the whites white, white like royal icing. A layer of fat like paraffin separating skin from muscle.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Rasp 2544-46, Indentured?”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Rasp smiled and open his hands, palms face up.
The bureaucrat ignored him.
“Your employer has decided to sell your contract. He thinks your general spiritedness would suit another project better.” He peeled the tablet from his fingertips and folded it like parchment to business card size and slipped it into his fashionable utility belt. The belt gleamed with holstered weapons.
“Will I be relocated?”
“You will find all of the information in this packet.” The bureaucrat handed him a thick sheaf of plasticine pages, held together with a black binder clip, and looked at his watch. His fingers were very pale and soft. “You can still make it to Pizza Night, if you go now.” He turned his back to Rasp and touched the shoulder of his suit. The door to the Rumpus Room slid open and he strode out, his suit flexing around his soft middle.
Rasp thumbed the pages of the packet. LABORER CLASS C; Destination: TBA; STATUS: INDENTURED; TERM: UNDETERMINED. DEPARTURE: DOCK C; 04:30 Mars time. His stomach churned.
The smell of burning potato and hot fat wafted down the hall.