by Ryan Tang
"We used the competition mode. Each of the workers single-mindedly performs their assigned task and treats anyone in their way as an opponent. Of course, we normally coordinate them to make it a more efficient process."
The Director let out a long and exaggerated sigh.
"If only we weren't in such a rush – we'd be able to see the best and most obedient rise to the top. But low tide approaches..."
He shook his head and fingered his square haircut.
The woman continued screaming.
"Reaper! Reaper! Die! Die!"
"What the hell is wrong with her?"
The big man shrugged.
"No idea."
He handed Stock a thick stack of papers as they stepped towards her cage. Matthew couldn't see the woman from his cell, but he caught the very edge of Stock and his fat friend.
Stock waved the thick stack of papers around. There was a gun in his other hand.
"Sign this! Sign this or I'll shoot you!"
"Get away! Get away from me!"
The big man shook his head.
"It won't work. You put her under physical duress."
"What does that mean?"
"If you threaten to hurt somebody, it doesn't work."
The woman made a hacking noise then spat, cutting off whatever the big man was trying to explain.
Matthew tried to understand what he meant.
If you threaten to hurt somebody, it doesn't work?
What was "it?"
Stock squealed and reeled backward. The giant glob of spit had landed dead center on his square-framed forehead. It dripped down his face as he wailed like a baby.
"She spit on me! She fucking spit on me!"
The woman hawked and spat again. Stock shrieked louder.
"No! No! No! She spit on me again!"
The woman continued screaming.
"Get away from me! Get away from me! Get away from me, you fucking ghoul!"
There was a tremendous bang, and her shrieking abruptly stopped.
Stock giggled.
"Yes! Yes! That's what she gets! Yes!"
The survivors near to her cell screamed.
Stock laughed even louder.
"Shut up! Shut up! I'll shoot you too if you show me an attitude!"
"Peter. Wipe this shit off my face. Use your sleeve."
The big man obeyed him.
When he finished wiping off his master's face, Peter clapped his hands together and addressed the surviving prisoners.
"Alright, everyone. Listen up. This is your only chance to get out of prison. We're investigating the quakes at Southern Robotics, and we need all hands on deck. Anyone who wants to help us will receive a full pardon from Waters and a job at Southern Robotics. Anyone who doesn't want to help us will stay here. I don't recommend staying here. We're moving the guards off to a new project, and there won't be anyone here to feed you."
The panicked outcry was immediate.
"Yes! Yes! Yes! I want a job!"
"Me! Me! Pick me!"
They'd just killed half the prisoners. Stock just shot someone right in front of them.
Now they were just going to all go work at Southern Robotics?
Matthew's mind was blank. It just didn't feel real.
The big man and Stock walked around. The cages were opened. The prisoners walked out, happy smiles on their faces.
Matthew was the last one left.
He was the only one who hadn't said anything yet.
The big man turned towards Matthew and smiled.
Stock hid behind Peter, muttering under his breath and gawking uncontrollably with strangely wide eyes.
"Don't let them spit on me! I'm god! Nobody can ever spit on me!"
A lot of people said that Stock was good-looking, but he always acted like such a fucking freak.
"What about you?"
The big man smiled kindly.
"We'd love to have you. Look. The hours will be tough. But we'll give you food and housing. And you'll get back to being productive! How does that sound?"
They'd just killed someone in front of him.
But he had no choice.
He had to say yes.
The big man had pretty much guaranteed that anyone who didn't work for them would starve in their cell.
"Yes."
The big man knelt and presented him with a thick stack of papers, the same stack Stock waved around when he threatened the lady with a gun.
"Here's your worker contract. All standard stuff. Just lists out what you're required to do for the company."
The big man fanned through the pages, pointing out clauses of interest.
"This states your hours and responsibilities."
"Here's where you promise never to speak ill against Southern Robotics in the media."
"This protects the company from any liability from injuries you sustain on the job."
"Here's where you promise that you and your heirs cannot take the company to court in the case of your death."
"This discusses provisions under which your payment may be forfeit."
Matthew's original contract with Southern Robotics had been very similar.
Just a load of shit about protecting the company.
He signed then because he couldn't get any other job.
He signed now because he'd die if he didn't.
Once he got out, he would have options. He could sell everything he owned and move to another colony. If he stayed in the cell, he'd die.
As soon as he finished signing, Stock laughed excitedly.
"Yes! Two thousand. Two thousand thralls! We're almost there. We're almost there!"
"It's like I said, sir. They came flocking to us after the quakes."
Thralls?
What was Stock saying?
Matthew tried to open his mouth, but nothing happened.
Peter smiled.
"Now we send them to collect their family, friends, and neighbors."
Stock giggled.
"Perfect! Perfect! Everything is coming at once. The Spire, the Eternium."
He sniggered.
"And finally, some competent workers."
The big man turned to Matthew and handed him a stack of papers.
"Get everyone you know to sign these. Tell them Southern Robotics is offering free food and shelter for anyone who works for them. Tell them that we will bring back Eternium. Tell them we will return to Old Earth. If they ask you how you are doing, say you are doing well. If you are asked anything about the company, please tell them to speak to your manager. If they say anything else or do something other than ask questions, tell them you must return to work. Then leave at once."
Stock clapped his hands together.
"Marvelous! Marvelous! They'll obey me to the end!"
The big man bowed his head.
"Yes, they will."
A keen look entered Stock's eye.
"So, Peter. If all these men will listen to me. Why do I need you?"
The big man didn't even blink as the Director waved his gun back and forth.
"You signed the same sort of contract as they did, Director."
Matthew didn't know what they were talking about.
He tried to asked, but couldn't.
"You are bound by the same magic. You must abide by our agreement. Godhood for you. Old Earth for my family and me."
Matthew had never seen someone just tell Stock to fuck off before. The prisoner expected Stock to shoot, but it seemed like there was nothing the Director could do.
The gun stopped waving. Stock glowered impotently.
Peter turned back towards Matthew. The big man's eyes burned with freakish will.
Matthew tried taking a step back.
The big man creeped him out.
But he couldn't move.
"Repeat these lines. 'Free room and board.' 'You have nowhere else to go.'"
A voice whispered in Matthew's head.
"Obey. Obey. Obey."
&n
bsp; His hands took the papers.
The phrases burrowed into his mind and sprang to his lips.
His legs moved of their own accord.
CHAPTER 18: THE POLITICIAN
Jared had never seen his father in so much pain before.
Despite countless failed experiments and countless nights spent lying in their tiny office, his father always woke up the next day with a laugh and a smile. Even when Stock was yelling right in front of him, spraying spittle all over his face, his dad would just sit there and take it all in with a calm grin.
His dad took an uneasy look around the ruins.
"Let's talk about this inside."
The stepped into the massive cockpit of their Paragon, the cockpit they'd built together. He gave his father the chair and sat down on the bed in the back.
His dad bit his lip and made an awkward indeterminable expression.
"Look. You're doing a very good thing. But you need to stay political."
Stay political? What was his dad talking about?
Stock had fired them!
He'd degraded Jared's machine as a hideous and worthless design.
He'd hired overpopulation conspiracy theorists to take their place.
Jared hoped his shock wasn't showing on his face. He didn't want to be rude to his father.
He kept his voice calm.
"What do you mean?"
His father let out a long and windy sigh.
"Look. Stock wasn't happy with your design. He mocked it in front of the whole company. So how do you think he feels now that you're getting a lot of positive press? After the quakes, he signed a bunch of deals with the Governor to take over management of the quake catastrophe. The company is spending all its resources to create Eternium and repair the colony. But look at this."
His dad pulled out his tablet and flipped to the news.
A look at the mysterious hunchbacked Paragon that's rebuilding homes.
The so-called "Hands Paragon" continues repairing Block Seven's fallen homes.
Win-Win! Southern Robotics and The Waters administration cooperating on quake investigation.
Director Irl Stock, Jr. is eagerly looking forward to hosting the colony's simulator tournament, calling it the perfect event to help people look to the future.
Southern Robotics aggressively pursuing the criminals who sacked the Governor's mansion.
Southern Robotics recruitment effort judged a tremendous success in curbing street violence.
"You're in the lead."
The headlines were ranked by views, and Stock was obsessed with receiving the highest possible rankings. Until the word got out, he used to require all Southern Robotics employees to spend their mornings clicking every single positive piece of company press they could find.
Jared couldn't help himself. Couldn't his dad see what was going on? They just had to look outside! A random headline didn't matter.
"What does that matter? Dad! He fired us! He kicked you to the curb after decades!"
Jared still couldn't believe it. Southern Robotics wouldn't have been a success without his father. It'd been his dad who designed the powerful engine used in Southern Robotics jets and Paragons. Without his father, the company wouldn't have any Paragons at all, not even weak ones.
"Yes, he did, but that doesn't matter. I didn't work for Stock because he was my friend. I worked for him because he gave me the best opportunities for my family. You need to keep him happy too. He's going to give you the best opportunities - both to save up money for your future families and for your charitable goals."
His father smiled tightly.
"He's the richest man on all the colonies, and if he gives you a chance to earn his money, you take it. I'm talking about the simulator tournament."
The simulator tournament!
Why would his dad be talking about the simulator tournament?
Jared was so shocked he just sputtered impotently for the next few minutes.
His father patiently waited for him to speak.
"Dad! You saw how bad it was outside! There shouldn't be a simulator tournament!"
"But there is, and if we're being realistic, it's the only way for you to fix the homes. If you win the tournament, you'll be able to build hundreds of Peacetime models."
His dad affectionately patted the side of the cockpit.
"How much time does it take for you to build these homes? You've come home just twice this week, and yet you're barely a quarter of the way done. And there are all the other Blocks to consider too. No matter how hard you slave away at it, you won't be able to accomplish enough by yourself. But if you won the tournament, you could fix all the houses at once."
His dad smiled kindly and placed a comforting arm on his shoulder.
"The truth is that winning the tournament – winning the millions promised in prize money – will give you a freedom you'll never have otherwise. That's why you should do it. There obviously shouldn't be a tournament. Of course, we should rebuild the homes first! But it's Stock's money, and he calls the shots. The only thing we can do is take advantage of it."
Jared sighed.
He saw what his father was saying.
His dad flipped at his tablet.
"And if you want to play in the tournament, it'd be best if you stopped now. Take a look at this."
His father scrolled down to the opinion section.
Jared groaned. The headline was terrible.
"POINTLESS DISTRACTION: Why the efforts of the Hands' Paragon' will amount to nothing.
The blurb was even worse.
"The Hands' Paragon' has been attracting far too much undeserved attention, especially in comparison to the many innovations that will actually transform humanity. There are people out there who are desperately following the Hands Paragon's rebuilding efforts yet know nothing about Southern Robotics's upcoming simulator tournament. Do they know that there's going to be a humanity transforming announcement? It's just another example of how nobody can see the big picture anymore. Why should the homes in the loser Blocks, sorry – lower Blocks – take precedence over something that affects the whole colony?"
The author was worst of all.
Bret Cowen was one of Stock's pet writers, along with Joseph Anders and Roy Munch. Jared should have known who it was after the line about "loser Blocks." That'd kicked up a bit of a scandal, but it'd dissipated in less than a week. Most of Bret's readers, like Jared and his father, lived on the early Blocks. Almost all of Jared's neighbors secretly agreed with Bret's sentiments.
Jared nervously twirled his fingers back and forth.
He briefly glanced out of his cockpit's panoramic view, staring at the ruins outside. They might not feel this way if they could see this.
The young engineer sighed and shook his head.
Such a critical piece from one of the pet writers was a direct warning.
Although they officially didn't have any relationship, Stock effectively sponsored Bret and his two colleagues. The Director lavished the frog-faced man with countless gifts, topping it off with a Paragon delivered to his home every year. It was an investment that paid off exceptionally well.
None of the pet writers ever wrote a single negative word about the company. They were happy to take suggested stories whenever someone from Southern Robotics called.
An advertisement suddenly burst onto his tablet, covering the whole screen and refusing to go away until it finished playing.
"Hey! Hey! Hey! Let's have some fun!"
Stock posed in the cockpit of a Paragon simulation pod. His grin stretched from ear to ear as he flashed two thumbs-up.
At the bottom was a handwritten note promoting the simulator tournament.
"A fun distraction is what we all need! Don't forget to attend Plenty's Paragon simulator tournament. Due to the urgency of the quakes, we've decided to move up the simulator tournament! In just a few days, witness the most exciting event in Plenty's history! Massive prizes! A secret humanity transforming rev
elation! Everyone simply must attend!"
Jared grimaced and patiently flickered the advertisement aside. His friends hadn't talked to them since the night of the quakes. He thought they were busy investigating, but what if they were wasting their time setting up the simulator tournament?
It got worse the longer he scrolled on.
Bret had written article after article dedicated to attacking him.
WASTE OF TIME: The more time the Hands Paragon spends fixing the broken homes, the less time he has to solve the quakes. The quakes affect everybody. Broken homes only affect a few people. What should be the focus here?
COMPLETELY UNACCOUNTABLE: Everyone should own a Paragon, but the hideous Hands Paragon had its safety limiters removed. That's why it flies higher and faster than any Southern Robotics machine. Should we allow an illegal Paragon in our midst?
Some of them didn't even make sense. There was one about overpopulation.
PLAYING GOD: The colony is clearly overcrowded. By repairing homes instead of letting people tough it out, the Hands Paragon is interfering with natural selection.
There were some transparent lies in his articles too. He claimed the colonies had been built for a population of 200,000 and that the crowded cube homes were proof of the problem. Everyone knew the Mad Nobles built the colonies to house their lavish courts and countless servants. They'd launched into the sky with populations of over 3 million. And the crowded homes were the fault of Southern Robotics and their restriction on building height.
The first article was so nonsensical it was clearly a rushed job. Stock must have really put the pressure on.
UNFAIR TREATMENT: By only helping people whose homes have been destroyed, the Hands Paragon is doing a grave disservice to hardworking citizens.
"Reconstructing homes is an unfair form of persecution against the wise citizens of Blocks 1-3. If the people living in the loser Blocks - sorry, lower Blocks - wanted a home; they should have just worked harder so they could afford to buy a better house. Instead, they chose to live in tiny little shacks that could fall apart at a moment's notice. They made a bad bet and should be forced to pay the price. Not only is the Hands Paragon saving them from their deserved fate, but he's also depreciating the value of the upper-class homes by eliminating their scarcity. My family and countless others have waited for this moment for generations! After the quakes, my home tripled in value. Thanks to the Hands Paragon, it's going back down again! If the Hands Paragon really cared about fairness, he would compensate me for the lost value! Wise men always consider externalities!"