Qi Meifen’s eyes snapped open and her new body inhaled its first breath on Maxproxemix. The sensation was strangely synthetic yet undeniably real—a rush of oxygen that made her chest burn, an insistent pulse racing in her ears. If not for the blinking notifications in her field of vision, she might have believed she was still in her original flesh. But the neural interface chirped to life, flooding her mind with data.
A rapid and steady voice — her assigned Local System — spoke inside her head:
> NOTIFICATION
> Transference complete. Welcome to Maxproxemix, Citizen-Doctor Qi Meifen. Your grace period has zero point six cycles remaining.
She blinked. 0.6 Cycles — that was only a bit over fifteen hours, by Earth standards, and she hadn’t even gotten out of the transfer capsule yet. Too short. Far too short. A subtle tension tightened in her freshly engineered muscles. Pulling the slick cables from her arms and stepping onto the grated floor of the transfer bay, Qi tried to shake the sense of vertigo that came with occupying a body grown on another world.
A cluster of data windows overlapped in front of her eyes:
> INFORMATION
> Name: Qi Meifen
> Position: Cultural Exchange Specialist
> Assigned Department: Admin – Complaints & Appeals
> Efficiency Rating: NaN
> Time to Next Evaluation: 50.50165 Millicycles
Less than a minute before her first evaluation? That was impossible. She hadn’t even been given time to orient herself. An upward swipe of her hand—an Earth habit that transferred awkwardly into the neural interface—dismissed the windows. But more notifications replaced them in an instant.
> NOTIFICATION
> This cycle's goals:
> 1) Fully integrate Admin—Complaints & Appeals protocols.
> 2) Your efficiency rating must exceed 25% by the end of your grace period.
> Failure to complete will result in immediate termination.
> Have a safe and productive cycle!
Qi’s heart leapt to her throat. She hadn’t even started her orientation. All she knew was that she was assigned to some department that handled petty disputes, requests for reassignments, and probably more. From the briefings she had received back home, the “Disposables” did not typically question the Empire’s directives, but apparently a planet of four quintillion people — even artificially loyal ones — still generated an impossible number of inquiries and minor disagreements.
Her new body’s sense of balance steadied, and she left the transfer bay. The corridor outside was sterile metal, lines of subtle lights guiding her to an lock that would open into the Admin superstructure. A disposable humanoid, pale, with deep-black eyes—stood at attention by the door, wearing the unmistakable green-grey uniform of the Admin Department. Its ghoulish face broke into a sincere smile the moment it saw her.
“Citizen-Doctor Qi Meifen! We are honored by your presence,” it said, voice tinged with mechanical cheeriness. “I am your designated Floor Attendant. We hope you had a pleasant transfer. The Subdepartment of Complaints & Appeals is waiting for you.”
The disposable’s friendly, unwavering gaze made Qi uneasy. She remembered from the cultural exchange materials that these Disposables were genetically engineered for unconditional contentment and loyalty. Even if they lived in cramped bunkrooms stacked a hundred tiers high, they would still have that same servile smile on their faces. And all of them seemed proud—delighted, even—to be serving the Provider Empire. She tried not to think too much about that as she followed it down the corridor.
> NOTIFICATION
> Admin—Complaints & Appeals system is now online.
> Your efficiency is now being rated.
> Incoming Cases: 8,223… 10,927… 15,447…
> You have 28 millicycles to begin your first batch.
A cold sweat broke out on Qi’s brow. The attendant gestured for her to enter a massive, ring-shaped chamber crammed with blinking screens. Rows upon rows of Admin staff — mostly Disposables, from the looks of them — were stationed in the pits below. Countless luminous cables draped from the ceiling, each connecting to a different operative’s neural port. The entire place was abuzz with the hum of machinery, faintly resonating through the metal floor. Overhead, endless stacks of datanodes soared hundreds of meters, a testament to Maxproxemix’s vertical architecture.
“Right this way, Citizen-Doctor.” The attendant presented her with a seat at a vacant console. She gingerly eased herself into the seat, noting the complex harness system. The second her back touched the padded support, the harness clicked shut around her torso and arms, locking her in place.
> SYSTEM ALERT
> Efficiency Processing Protocol Engaged
> Your next evaluation is in 1.5 millicycles.
Qi didn’t even have time to protest before the neural interface overrode her normal vision. Another wave of data: disputes, complaint forms, appeals from many corners of the planet. She recognized the format from her orientation files. Each entry was summarized in less than two lines:
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* Disposable Unit (local)414-223-556-190 requests reclassification from sanitation to microfactory maintenance.
* Supervisor #89 appeals the resource allotment for Sub-Block 17.
* Nutrient paste complaints from Section 12089-T32.
* Machine Overhaul schedule dispute between Industrial Ward 10059 and Ward 10060.
All demanded her decision. And the system wanted them fast.
“What am I supposed to do?!” Qi blurted. She tried to recall the information from her training program, which had been a dizzying overview of Maxproxemix’s Admin policies. Her interface clacked and whirred with incoming instructions, half-floating in her peripheral vision. The harness beeped, reminding her that time was ticking.
Her eyes darted left to see a line of decision macros available within the interface. The recommended approach was to press one macro for “Approved,” another for “Denied,” or a third for “Defer.” The trouble was each case needed some reasoning behind it, and the system automatically rated her choices for efficiency.
> Neural Interface: Warning - You have 1 millicycle to respond.
“Approve…Deny…D—”
> -TIME EXPIRED-
A harsh red message flooded her entire visual field.
> You have failed to respond in time. Efficiency Rating -1% New Efficiency Rating: 0.96% Warning: Grace Period Reducing
A dull ache coursed through her head, likely a mild electroshock feedback from the harness. No permanent damage, she hoped. But her rating plummeted further. She still had more than two dozen cycles left of her grace period, but if her efficiency rating remained that low...
“You must expedite your decisions, Citizen-Doctor Qi.” The mechanical voice of the local Schedule Master spoke quietly next to her ear. There was no malice in its tone—only compliance and a slight tinge of concern. “We exist to serve. Work safely. Work efficiently.”
She grimaced. “I don’t even know the correct responses. This system is insane! Less than a second per case?”
> New Batch Incoming…
> Number of Cases: 20,524
Qi bit her lip. The harness beeped its persistent countdown. She tapped into the macros, scanning quickly:
Two microfactories requesting the same heat quota. She glimpsed a reference to the Department of Flow’s guidelines. The recommended macros were “Deny B” or “Approve Both.” Her gut said that “Approve Both” might lead to meltdown, but “Deny B” could cause workforce slowdown. She guessed the planet was big on maximizing output. With no time to weigh it, she just slammed Deny B.
A complaint from a Department of Flow official about disallowed coolant usage. She recognized the department’s significance. Approve the official’s appeal or deny it? She Approved with no further thought.
Another dispute about overtime in sub-block D45. She had an odd feeling about that, but time was draining away. She pressed Deny with a trembling finger.
The system churned, analyzing her quick decisions.
> NOTIFICATION
> Block completed. Efficiency Calculation… Base Rating: 1.1% Estimated Gains: +1.3% Penalties: -0.5% Net Efficiency: 1.9%
Her heart sank. Barely an improvement.
> SYSTEM ALERT
> Next batch incoming in 2 millicycles.
She swallowed. This was the new normal: a relentless onslaught of decisions. For the next hour—she had no sense of time beyond the cycle readouts—Qi hammered the macros, sometimes approving, sometimes denying, sometimes deferring, all while vaguely trying to follow the planet’s labyrinthine regulations. Still, she felt like a pilot flying blind, scanning only the bolded phrases and hoping to avoid catastrophic errors.
Her neural interface kept a running tally of her performance:
> NOTIFICATION
> Active Efficiency: 6.5%
> Pending Cases: 342,001
> Time to Grace Period Expiration: 0.5781 cycles
Six-point-five percent. Abysmally low, but at least she was crawling upward. She forced her breathing to steady, though sweat dripped from her temples. The harness had begun to chafe, and dull sparks of feedback pricked her spine whenever she missed a case’s timer.
“Your break is now scheduled,” the Schedule Master announced cheerily. “You have 20 millicycles to rest.”
Qi’s eyes widened. She barely had enough time to slump back in her seat. The data feed vanished, leaving her in a haze of too-bright overhead lights and the distant roar of the superstructure’s machinery.
She fought the urge to scream. Thirty seconds was hardly a break. But she reminded herself that she was here by choice. A prestigious cultural exchange, her superiors had called it back home. She could bring back invaluable knowledge of the Provider Empire’s technology. A chance to see the famed planet that sustained four quintillion souls in its miles-high labyrinth.
Yet here she was, inundated by a thousand tasks per second, battered by the fear of failure.
> LOCAL SYSTEM (Soothing Tone):
> 12 millicycles remaining on break. Efficiency is suboptimal.
> Recommendation: Use break to review processing macros.
> Remember, your grace period is limited.
Qi closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. “I can do this,” she whispered. Even if it felt more like a survival mission than an educational sojourn. If she could push her rating just high enough, she’d buy herself some breathing room—maybe find a moment to explore this claustrophobic planet-spanning fortress.
She opened her eyes with renewed determination, ignoring the sweat and the dryness in her throat.
> BREAK TIME END
> Returning to Admin—Complaints & Appeals system.
The HUD blinked into life again, an onslaught of new cases flooding her interface. She steeled herself and pressed on.
0.57... She had just half a cycle to drag her efficiency out of the depths. And beyond that loomed the intangible presence of the Provider that ruled Maxproxemix, a near-godlike figure who siphoned energy from a black hole to keep every assembly line running. Compared to that, her floundering attempts at administrative triage felt downright trivial.
But for Qi Meifen, the next few seconds of blistering decisions would mean everything. She braced herself, determined to survive this crucible of endless issues — one batch at a time.
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