by Rob Hart
“I thought you could upgrade housing.”
“You can,” Miguel said. “But it’s expensive. My husband and I—he blew out his ankle so now he works in customer service—we’re saving our credits. He’s from Germany. We’re thinking of leaving, going there.”
Zinnia nodded. “Germany is nice.”
Miguel breathed in, let it out in a long, sad stream of air. “One day…”
Zinnia gave him a small smile. Something he might find comforting but that would also cover up the awkwardness, the pity she felt for this man, stuck in his monkey job, dreaming of leaving the country when there was a very good chance it was never going to happen.
Miguel looked at his CloudBand. “I guess that’s it. If you get jammed up on something you can say Miguel Velandres into the watch and it’ll find me. And like I said, you can say manager to find a white, but it’s better the less you have to bother with them.”
They dropped their water bottles into an overflowing recycling bin—a sign above it that said, THANK YOU FOR RECYCLING!—and stepped onto the floor.
“You ready?” Miguel asked.
Zinnia nodded.
He raised his wrist. “Orientation complete.”
Zinnia’s wrist buzzed. Another arrow, beckoning her to move forward.
Miguel raised his hand. “Don’t linger. Never linger.”
They shook hands, and Zinnia took off, letting the gentle vibration of the watch carry her. From over her shoulder Miguel called out, “Don’t forget, mi amiga. Get some sneakers.”
PAXTON
Paxton sat alone against the back wall of the briefing room. Two women and four men, all in blue polo shirts, sat at its front, separated from him by three empty rows of classroom-style desks.
The other people talked like they knew each other. Paxton wasn’t sure how that was possible, considering this was orientation. Maybe they were housed near each other.
Paxton hadn’t planned to sit by himself. But he’d been the first to arrive and sat in the back. The others filtered in and sat near the front, already engaged in conversation, not really noticing him. To get up and go over to them might come off as desperate. So Paxton stayed where he was, watching the partially closed blinds covering the large window overlooking the main room.
It was a command center. Lots of cubicles. Lots of folks in blue polo shirts talking on phones, tapping at tablets bolted into the desks. Everyone looking over their shoulders like someone might be watching. Video screens covering the walls, all of them showing maps and wireframe schematics.
A figure moved along the window and the door opened. A man with a face like the side of a tree walked in. His slate hair was cut short and sharp. The top of his lip was obscured by a thick, bushy mustache. He wore a tan shirt with the sleeves rolled up and forest-green khakis. No gun, but a heavy-duty flashlight hung from the holster of his belt. The gold star pinned to his chest was so polished it cradled the light. He had the straight spine and hundred-yard stare of a real-deal law enforcement officer. The kind of person who made you immediately want to apologize, even if you hadn’t done anything wrong.
He strode to the lectern and looked around the room, making eye contact with each person in turn. He got to Paxton last, lingered for a moment, and nodded his head, as if the seven people before him were acceptable.
“My name is Sheriff Dobbs, and I’m the man responsible for this county,” he said, speaking like he had somewhere else to be. “As sheriff, it is my job to come here and do two things when we got a group of new recruits such as yourselves. First, I am to deputize you under the authority of the MotherCloud Security and Safety Act.” He waved his hand like a bored magician. “Consider yourself deputized.
“Second,” he said, “I’m supposed to explain to you all what the hell that means.”
He gave a little smirk. Permission for sphincters to unclench. A few people laughed. Paxton didn’t, but he did flip open a small notebook. He wrote at the top of the page: Sheriff Dobbs.
“Now, you may be asking, can I make arrests?” he asked. “And the answer is: not really. What you can do is detain. You got yourself a perp—maybe someone stole something, started a fight, whatever—you bring him over to holding in Admin. The Safety and Security Act mandates ten officers from the local jurisdiction must be in the office at all times in order to address criminal matters. But ten people ain’t enough to cover as much ground as we got here, so you are the eyes and ears.”
Detain. Eyes and ears. Real cops handle serious shit.
“Most of the time, things are pretty quiet,” he said. “ ’Cause here’s the truth. You fuck up at Cloud, you’re out. You get caught stealing, you earn enough strikes to get turfed, you are not welcome at a single Cloud-affiliated company in these United States, or even on the rest of God’s green planet. I don’t have to tell you that means your employment options will become severely limited. And that means most people are smart enough to not shit where they eat.”
Screw up, you’re out. Keeps people in line.
“Most of your responsibility is to be seen,” Dobbs said. “Be out there, a part of the community.” He tugged at the collar of his tan uniform. “This is a line of demarcation. This is why you wear the polo shirts. We want to encourage a friendly atmosphere. That’s why you don’t get some kind of fancy uniform.”
Shirts are a system of equality.
“Most of y’all are here because you have some kind of law enforcement or security on your CV,” he said. “Still, every place does things differently, and that means we have training and education sessions. Twice a month. Today is going to be the longest. We’re going to make you sit and watch some videos about what to do in the event of conflict, if you suspect someone of stealing, etcetera, etcetera. But I made some popcorn, if that helps.”
Some more laughs.
Dobbs seems okay.
“Now everyone head on down the hall and get yourself a seat,” he said. “I’ll be there and we’ll get started in a few minutes. But first…is there a Paxton here?”
Paxton looked up. Dobbs made eye contact and smiled.
“Hang around for a second, son,” he said. “I got a question for you.”
The other six people in the room stood, throwing glances at Paxton on their way to the door, wondering what made him special. Paxton wondered that, too.
When the room was empty Dobbs said, “Follow me.”
He turned and left. Paxton jumped to his feet, scrambling into the bullpen, and followed Dobbs through a door at the rear of the room, next to which was a large pane of reflective glass.
Paxton stepped inside the darkened room, which consisted of a desk, two chairs in front of it, some pictures, and a few maps of the facility. Each one seemed to have a different focus. At a quick glance Paxton could tell one was the transit system, another was the electrical grid, a third, topographical maybe? Not much else. It was the kind of office for someone who didn’t feel much need to keep an office.
“Take a seat,” Dobbs said, falling into the worn roller chair behind the desk. “I don’t want to leave the rest of them waiting too long, but I couldn’t help but notice your work history. You were a prison guard.”
“I was,” Paxton said.
“Bit of a gap between then and now.”
“I owned my own company,” he said. “But it didn’t work out. You know, this economy is a full-contact sport.”
Dobbs didn’t acknowledge the sarcasm. “Listen, tell me something. Why’d you become a guard?”
Paxton sat back in the chair. He wished he had a better answer, something about a higher calling, but that would be a lie, so he told the truth. “I needed a job. I saw an ad. Ended up staying longer than intended.”
“And how do you feel about being here?” Dobbs asked.
“Honestly?”
; “No wrong answers, son.”
“I was hoping for a red shirt.”
Dobbs smiled, his lips drawn tight. “Look, I don’t have time to sit here and bullshit around the bush with you. I like that you’re not gung-ho for this job. Job like this, the more enthusiasm you have, the more my flags go up. Some people like authority a bit too much. It’s a sport for them, or a coping mechanism, or just a way to get back at the world. You understand?”
Paxton thought about every guard he’d worked with who smiled too much as they swung their stick, who poked and prodded the volatile prisoners, who hooted and hollered when it was time to throw someone in the box.
“I do,” he said. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“In that prison where you worked, how much did you deal with contraband?”
“We had some drug issues,” he said. “I worked under a few wardens. Some had zero-tolerance policies; some looked the other way, figured doped-up prisoners were easier to control.”
“Were they?” Dobbs asked.
Paxton chose his words carefully. Now he felt like he was taking a test. “Yes and no. Get someone high enough, they can be pretty easy to deal with. Get them too high, and they OD or tear stuff up, and that’s no good either.”
Dobbs leaned back in his chair, tenting his hands and pressing his fingertips together. The band of his watch was the standard-issue, same as Paxton’s. “We got a little problem here, and I’m setting up something…I don’t want to call it a task force. Not that official. Just some folks to keep their eyes and ears open. Maybe ask around if they find themselves in a position where they might be able to do some good.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Oblivion. You know what that is?”
“I know it’s a drug, but it didn’t really come into vogue until recently. After I left the prison.”
Dobbs glanced toward the waiting blues and gave a little shrug, as if he could risk another few minutes. “It’s a modified form of heroin that’s not physically addictive. See, the reason heroin is so heinous is, it rewires your brain. Makes it so your body can’t function without it. That’s why withdrawal is so hard. Oblivion is the same high, but without the hook. It’s psychologically addictive, same way anything feels good so you want to do it again. So people OD, just not as many. Right now we are seeing a lot of it. And sometimes it ain’t mixed right so people get sick just from taking it. Sometimes it kills them. Word from on top is, we have to shut this shit down.” Dobbs dropped his voice. “And I’m going to level with you. The county can’t spare any more officers. The men upstairs want me to handle it with the on-site men and women in blue. So that’s where I’m at. I need a few good folks who can poke around in a…relaxed manner. And someone who’s got an eye for contraband could be helpful.”
“Why relaxed?” Paxton asked.
Dobbs stared at him for a moment before responding. “I like it when things are relaxed.”
Paxton sat back, at a loss for what to say. He’d been half-hoping that Dobbs was going to tell him a mistake had been made, that he’d be getting his red shirt and would be shipped off to the warehouse floor, where he could outrun his stress and maybe get the hell out of here in a timely fashion. Now he was being asked to do extra-credit work for a job he didn’t want in the first place.
And yet, there was something he liked about Dobbs. He spoke carefully, and clearly, and with respect, three things in short supply among the supervisors at the prison. Plus, it was nice to be asked, like Paxton had some special skill. Like he was needed.
Dobbs gave another pained smile, put his hand up. “Don’t decide anything now. I know it’s a lot to ask. It’s your first day. All I know is, you got a clean record and you got an eye for details. You were the only person in there taking notes. I appreciate things like that. So, you think on it and maybe in a day or two, as we’re sorting stuff out, we’ll touch base.”
Paxton stood. “That’s fair.”
“Just so you know, job like this, there’s room for advancement,” Dobbs said. “Plus, you’d be doing some real good work, helping people who need help. Now.” He waved his hand down the hall. “Get on and grab a seat. Let them all wonder why the hell I pulled you out. I’ll be down with that popcorn in a minute.”
SECURITY TRAINING VIDEO
A man and a woman walk hand in hand along a field of bright green artificial turf. Above them is a glass dome, yellowed sunlight filtering through the frosted panels.
Two children, a boy and a girl, run ahead of the adults. They pick a spot on the turf and unfurl a picnic blanket. The boy stops to wave to someone. The camera turns to find a woman in a blue polo shirt, walking along a nearby pathway.
Cut to workers in red polo shirts dashing back and forth with items tucked under their arms in search of conveyor belts. Men and women in blue polo shirts appear and disappear among the stacks, unseen, like ghosts, or guardian angels, not interfering. Protecting.
An old woman wearing a green polo pushes a cart through a gray-carpeted office, emptying trash cans. She stops to salute a man in a blue polo shirt, who laughs it off and gives her a hug.
Voice-over (VO): Hello, and welcome to the first in a series of videos designed to help you understand your role as a security officer at MotherCloud. No doubt you’ve already been deputized. Congratulations! Now it’s time to talk about what that means.
A young couple walks down a brightly lit white staircase, hand in hand.
A woman in a blue polo shirt patrols a residential hallway.
A line of people wait to pass through metal detectors on their way off the warehouse floor. Workers in blue polos wearing baby-blue latex gloves wave them through, one after another.
Everyone is smiling.
VO: Your job is to support the safety and security of this facility, while keeping it open, friendly, and welcoming to the people who live and work here. You do this through patrolling, monitoring, observing, and reporting.
A group of teenagers play video games in a retro-style arcade. They look like they could be loud, raucous. But they stop to wave to a man in a blue polo shirt, who waves back.
They are all friends.
VO: This video series will explore demeanor and ethical behavior, crisis intervention, criminal and civil laws that pertain to your position, and how best to aid your facility’s sheriff and his officers. First, and most important…
The screen goes black. The words RESPECT IS EARNED appear in large white type.
VO: Treat everyone with dignity and respect, and they’ll treat you with dignity and respect in return. The simple use of sir or ma’am goes a long way. Your primary goal should always be prevention and deterrence.
The words VIGILANCE IS KEY appear.
VO: Again, your primary goal should always be prevention and deterrence. And to do that you must be aware of your surroundings. Even when you’re not working—if you see something that requires attention, please notify on-shift security officers immediately.
Cut to an image of a man peering down an empty hallway, as if he’s doing something wrong. He pulls his collar up and ducks through a door, where he finds a group of people sitting around a small table in what appears to be a repurposed storage room.
VO: Cloud works tirelessly with local and government officials to promote a safe and secure work environment. Fair treatment of our workers is priority number one—we take every comment and complaint seriously. If you suspect employees of organizing over grievances outside the traditional channels of human resources, please notify your local sheriff immediately.
Cut back to the family having the picnic.
They wave over the woman in the blue polo shirt. She strides across the artificial turf and the little boy reaches up, handing her a fat chocolate chip cookie.
The security officer takes it, bends down, and gives the little boy a hug.
VO: MotherCloud is a new paradigm for the American economy, and more important, the American family. You are their first line of defense. We thank you for the responsibility you are about to undertake.
The screen goes black. The words ROLES AND RESPONSIBILITIES appear in large white type.
VO: Now, on to the first installment in the induction series….
ZINNIA
Zinnia’s foot slipped and her stomach lurched. She managed to grab the side of the shelving unit before she fell backward and cracked her head on the floor.
It hadn’t taken long to stop using the carabiner. The clip took precious seconds to engage and disengage, which weren’t worth spending. She was less concerned with falling and more concerned with the yellow line.
After she’d finished with Miguel, she was tasked with picking her first item. A three-pack of deodorant. She walked briskly to the shelving unit. It took more than ten minutes to get there, crossing the massive floor, dancing around the other reds and the sliding shelves. By the time she delivered the package to the conveyor belt, the green bar on her CloudBand had turned yellow.
The next item was a book. She took off, walking a little faster, the shelving units eventually giving way to a rotating library, titles spinning around her. It was a little harder to find, the way the books were packed spine-out on the shelf, but she tracked it down and got it to where it needed to go. The bar was still yellow, but it had replenished a bit.
The next item: a six-pack of soup cans, wrapped in plastic.
Then: Alarm clock. Shower radio. Book. Digital camera. Book. Phone charger. Snow boots. Sunglasses. Medicine ball. Designer messenger bag. Tablet. Book. Salt scrub. Infinity scarf. Pliers. Curling iron. Vacuum sealer. Christmas lights. Package of pens. Set of three silicone whisks. Noise-canceling headphones. Digital scale. Sunglasses. Vitamins. Flashlight. Umbrella. Vise grip. Wallet. Digital meat thermometer. Dog biscuits. Doll. Compression socks. Shampoo. Book. Rubber ducky. Sports watch. Sippy cup. Knife sharpener. Drill battery. Shower caddy. Travel coffee mug. French press. Measuring tape. Kids’ socks. Magic markers. Swaddling blanket. Knee brace. Cat bed. Scissors. Sunglasses. Christmas lights. Dremel kit. Teddy bear. Books. Protein powder. Nose-hair trimmer. Playing cards. Tongs. Phone charger. Baking sheets. Bracelet. Multi-tool. Wool cap. Night-light. Package of men’s undershirts. Chef’s knife. Yoga mat. Hand towels. Christmas lights. Leather belt. Salad spinner. Ream of printer paper. Fiber pills. Set of spatulas. Book. Hoodie. Tablet case. Immersion blender. Cookie cutters. Tablet. Keyboard. Phone charger. Action figure.