Dyscountopia

  The big man opened his mouth to protest, then quickly shut it again. He glanced reluctantly at Albert, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Albert was alone with the Sergeant.

  She regarded him coldly, quietly looming over him with her massive presence. Seconds ticked by with Albert looking in every direction but at the young woman’s face. Then, slowly, he hazarded a glance upward.

  He smiled in recognition. “Hey. You’re my neighbor.”

  The woman punched him hard. In the face.

  Albert heard the crack of his nose as it burst into a shower of red. His eyes filled with tears and stars. He gagged on his own blood. He tried to swallow, and felt a tooth slide down the back of his throat. She punched him again.

  “Stop!” he tried to shout, but only a bloody gurgle drew forth. “Stop!”

  But she didn’t stop. She hit him again, and again and again in the face. He struggled vainly to protect himself with his one free arm as she landed blows with equal force from right and left, apparently ambidextrous. And then, just as Albert felt himself blissfully begin to lose consciousness, the beating ceased.

  Albert dared to lower his arm, blinking through the pain. A frail, emaciated figure stood limp-armed before him, her pale white knuckles covered in Albert’s blood mingled with her own, wearing the same gray uniform with the same LPT insignia as the Sergeant just a moment before, but no longer with the menacing Sergeant inside -- only a sad, lonely young girl.

  Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m like you,” she whispered miserably.

  “I know,” said Albert, drooling blood. It seemed like the right answer.

  He haltingly took her by the wrist. It had been a long time since he’d touched another human being; she was warm and alive in contrast to all the dead things around him. He could feel the slight pulsing of her artery, keeping time with the throbbing of his own skull. He looked into her eyes, at the tormented soul that lay behind them, and was ashamed for each day that he’d stood beside her at his front door and never turned to see her.

  The throbbing escalated. His ears were filled with a soft hum. The hum grew louder, and the Sergeant glanced distractedly at the wall behind him. The next thing Albert knew he was airborne.

  He landed on the other side of the room, wheezing uncontrollably as he fought to suck air back into his collapsed lungs. He wobbled to his feet like a newborn giraffe, confused and frightened. The room around him was filled with debris. A green floor shuttle lay embedded in the wall next to him, crushed like a soda can, blocking the exit. There was a gaping hole in the opposite wall.

  In the corner, Sergeant Alexander lay crumpled in the fetal position, a peaceful expression on her face in sharp contrast to the chaos around her. Albert approached her and reached down as if to touch her hand, then pulled back at the last second. He considered the gun beside her.

  Slowly, he picked it up, then vanished through the hole in the wall.

  “You’ve reached your destination,” the broken shuttle announced triumphantly, in its final throes of death. “One hundred and seventy-five dollars will be deducted from your account. Have a nice day.”

  ****

  Mr. Edd scratched the inside of his ear quizzically, staring down at the open page on his desk. With a hint of prideful reluctance, he reached out and tapped the red button on his phone. The button lit up.

  “Susan, what’s a ten letter word from the Greek meaning ‘cave dweller’?”

  He scratched his ear some more, waiting for the reply, silently wishing he’d gone with an easier puzzle. This was only the first clue, and fifty more to go. They just weren’t any fun when they got this hard. He crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair, and touched the tips of his fingers together. The intercom would buzz any minute, the button would light up, and Susan would give him the answer. Susan was very reliable.

  But the intercom didn’t buzz. The button didn’t light up.

  There came a knock at the door.

  Mr. Edd tilted his head to the side in a fascinated way. Every since he’d been working there, in that office, the door had never been ‘knocked at’. Susan would never allow it, not without buzzing him first.

  Mr. Edd considered various things to say to the door. He made a decision.

  “Yes?”

  The door came slowly open, and when Mr. Edd saw the man standing behind it, it was all he could do not to suck in his breath. But he didn’t suck it in. He was proud of that.

  “Oh, hello, Albert. I was wondering when you’d get here.”

  Albert Zim’s reanimated corpse stood waiting in the doorway – barefoot, tattooed, unwashed, covered in bruises and glue, his purple coveralls hanging in tatters with flowery pieces of upholstery still fused to them. Mr. Edd’s nostrils detected the unpleasant odor of shit and watermelon surrounding him.

  “Susan didn’t announce you. She’s usually very reliable.”

  “I glued her to her chair.”

  Mr. Edd nodded slightly, and his eyes drifted down to the gun in Albert’s hand. Albert cradled the gun awkwardly, as if he suspected he was holding it backwards. He wasn’t, Mr. Edd noticed.

  “Are you feeling alright, Albert? I asked the Sergeant not to hit you in the face.”

  Albert grunted, and blood spilled from his mouth. “She must not have heard you.”

  Mr. Edd treated him to a smile so big and so warm that armies of harbor seals might have lined up on a beach to bask in its glow. “It’s been a long time, Albert. How’s the wife and kids?”

  “My wife’s a bitch,” Albert answered, glaring. “And we don’t have any kids.”

  Mr. Edd raised his eyebrows. “Albert, are you mad at me?”

  “You fired me into space.”

  “I never fired you into space,” Mr. Edd protested, placing his hand over his heart. “Our lawyers fired you into space, Albert. And Susan – she’s the one that pushed the button.”

  Albert shrugged.

  Mr. Edd intensified his smile, bullying Albert with his relentless likeability. “Come on, Albert.” He gestured to a chair. “Sit down and let’s talk.”

  Cautiously, Albert eased himself into the small pleather chair, settling the glue gun in his lap. He couldn’t help but groan from the pain of his broken ribs as he sat down.

  “I must say, Albert.” Mr. Edd leaned forward and made a tent with is fingers. “I’m surprised to see you back in this condition.” His eyes drifted to Albert’s forehead. “What is that, Helvetica?”

  The question had scarcely escaped his lips before a great thumping of boots rose up from the lobby. The door of the office shivered on its hinges – once, twice – then sprang wide with a crash, ricocheting from the wall.

  Sergeant Alexander glided over the threshold and in two steps was upon Albert Zim, clutching him by the collar with both hands, her face contorted into a grimace of pure self-conscious rage, her eyes clouded with hate. Albert shrank back into the pleather like a turtle retreating into its shell, forgetting the gun on his lap.

  Mr. Edd cleared his throat softly. “Hello Sergeant.”

  The Sergeant ignored him. She stared at Albert, pouring hot molten hate into his skull through his eye sockets. Albert searched her face for the lonely young women he had seen in the interrogation room, hoping for a rescue. She moved her gloved hands to his throat, and Albert felt his windpipe being slowly constricted.

  Two massive fists came to Albert’s rescue, circling Alexander’s tiny wrists. Though she struggled, the Sergeant was no match for Officer Travis’ superior strength. Travis shook his head, slowly forcing her hands from Albert’s throat. For the moment, the flow of the Sergeant’s hatred was redirected into Travis and Albert was able to breath.

  Mr. Edd cleared his throat again, louder. “Thanks for stopping by, Sergeant. Great work. I’ll take care of things from here.”

  “Mr. Edd,” Alexander hissed between her teeth, shaking free of Travis’ grip. “Albert Zim is a dangerous criminal. I’ll need to
take him into custody.”

  Mr. Edd beamed at her. “My congratulations on always getting your man, Sergeant. Really. But I wouldn’t want to keep you here any longer. There’re lots of bad guys out there for you to catch, I’m sure.”

  “But, sir --.”

  Mr. Edd held up his hands, speaking very firmly and clearly. “Really, Sergeant, I simply couldn’t forgive myself if you stayed even one more single second in this room. Even one single second.” He leveled his unblinking gaze at her, his face a grinning brick wall.

  The Sergeant’s cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth and, for a moment, Albert thought she was going to plead with him, but all that came out was a low, restrained growl. She glowered at Travis as she turned to leave, but saved her most bitter glare for Albert. Searching her eyes, Albert expected to find disappointment, betrayal, hurt feelings -- but saw only rage. Perhaps he had only dreamed of ever seeing anything else there.

  She marched out of the office and slammed the door behind her. Mr. Edd’s twinkling eyes followed her out of the room, then fell upon Officer Travis.

  “Thanks for stopping by, Officer. Would you mind ungluing my receptionist on the way out?”

  Travis nodded, then quietly showed himself out, leaving the two men alone again.

  . “Now, tell me, Albert,” said Mr. Edd, easing himself back in his chair. “What have you been doing in your spare time, apart from committing felonies?”

  Albert sat quietly thinking for a moment, his eyes cast downward. Then he looked up from the floor and smiled. He smiled defiantly, as big as he could, a smile to challenge that horrible, beautiful, brilliant white rictus that covered Mr. Edd’s face.

  “I’ve returned with a message,” he said. “A message for the people of Omega-Mart.”

  Mr. Edd raised his eyebrows. “Really?” he asked. “What is it?”

  Albert locked eyes with the other man, pausing to let the gravity of the moment sink in. “Things don’t have to be this way,” he told him at last. “Things can be different.”

  This was Albert’s message, complete and unabridged – that perfect, urgent message he’d carried halfway across a universe. Had Dr. Zayus been lying in a proper grave, rather than rotting in a heap in the sewer, he would surely have been spinning in it.

  Mr. Edd sat silently for several seconds, waiting for Albert to elaborate. He spread out his hands. “That’s it?”

  Albert nodded serenely.

  Mr. Edd leaned forward. “How?”

  How? The question struck Albert like a ball-peen hammer to the skull. It was not a question he’d been prepared to answer, not one that he’d ever stopped to consider.

  Mr. Edd smiled back at him, motionless, waiting.

  “We don’t have to keep on building and consuming,” Albert began, like a skater testing the ice. “We can stop competing. We can forget about profits and promotions and Guest Speakers and Fun Fridays – we don’t need any of it any more.” Hearing his muddled thoughts transformed to words, Albert grew more confident. “Don’t you see? There’s no reason for it anymore. There’s plenty of everything for everybody. We’re playing a game that we don’t have to play. We’ve already won.”

  Mr. Edd made a sucking sound through his teeth. “Albert, are you sure you’re okay? The Sergeant didn’t hit you on the head too hard?”

  “No!” Albert pounded his fist against his knee. “I’m reading things loud and clear, now. I understand. The world doesn’t have to be like this anymore. We don’t have to go on pretending.”

  Mr. Edd shook his head passively from side to side. “I like this world, Albert. I think that, with a little hard work, we’ve made it into a pretty good one….”

  Albert sprang to his feet. “Are you nuts?” he shouted. “We’ve trapped it in a concrete shell. We’ve caged it like an animal – an animal that eats up lifetimes and spits out flimsy, low-cost garbage. We don’t make anyone’s lives better. We don’t care about providing opportunity, about helping out the little guy, about making the world a better place – that’s all just shiny wrapping paper to help us peddle more junk. All we care about is the bottom line.”

  “It’s not about the bottom line,” Mr. Edd insisted. “We’re serving the community, Albert.”

  “Really?” Albert sneered, stabbing his finger downward. “We throw our lives away on that floor, working for peanuts while you sit up here in your fancy office, doing crossword puzzles and chatting on the phone. We’re forced to eat shit and like it, working day after day to bring up your profits, while you smile across your desk at us with those stupid goddamn big white teeth. We struggle every minute to keep our heads above water while you drown us in a sea of motivational bullshit and useless fucking memos, just because you’re scared shitless that someone might forget for one goddamn second how incredibly fucking important you are. You’re the devil, Barnaby!”

  Mr. Edd cocked his head sideways. “You didn’t find the memos helpful?”

  “No!” Albert screamed maniacally, showering Mr. Edd’s desk with spittle. “No, No, No, NO! I didn’t find them helpful! Not one bit fucking helpful!”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Albert, but you can’t sell produce without memos.”

  “Aren’t you hearing me?” Albert cried, white knuckled as he clutched the edge of the desk. “Your memos are shit. Produce is shit. Omega-Mart is shit.”

  Mr. Edd sucked in his breath. He pressed his lips together, eclipsing his radiant smile, and narrowed his eyes at the defiant man in front of him. “Is that what you learned on the Planet Pog, Albert?”

  Albert’s face drained. He stumbled backward and fell into his chair. “H-how do you know about that?” he whispered.

  “It’s part of my job to know,” said Mr. Edd. “I don’t just sit here writing memos, Albert, or doing crossword puzzles, despite what you might think.” Mr. Edd suddenly became aware of the crossword puzzle in front of him, and casually slipped it into his desk drawer. “I listen to things, Albert. I watch things. I make sure that things keep running smoothly, that the world doesn’t all of a sudden stop spinning and drift off into space. I make sure that people go on believing that what we do is important. I maintain order, Albert.” Mr. Edd was speaking in a way that Albert had never heard him speak before, like an entirely different person was channeling through his mouth from some secret part of his brain. “Look around you, Albert. No disease, no famine, no war – everyone gets to vote, even if it isn’t always counted, everyone gets to have an opinion, even if no one is really listening; almost no one has to worry that the police will come into their home in the middle of the night and steal them away from their family, and everyone has some chance, even if it’s only a small one, to improve their station if they’re willing to go along with the team. For the first time in history, we have a real civilization.”

  Albert gazed into Mr. Edd’s eyes, transfixed. At last he was seeing through Omega-Mart’s smiling mask. It was like being on the edge of a black hole, sneaking a peek at the mysteries of the universe. It was too much. He looked away.

  “Purple,” he muttered, studying the carpet. “Everywhere I go, I see purple. I’m sick of purple.”

  “What’s wrong with purple?” Mr. Edd asked him. “I like purple. I love purple. It’s a happy color.” He pointed a finger at Albert. “You know what you should do, Albert? Pick up a history book. Pick one up and read it, if you can find one. Read about the way people used to live, the way they lived for thousands and thousands of years, from one dark age to another. Then tell me if there’s too much purple. Tell me if there’s anything more precious in this world than a future we can rely on to never look like the past.”

  Albert shrugged feebly.

  “Relax, Albert,” Mr. Edd insisted, spreading his arms. “Quit struggling. We’ve arrived. This is the pinnacle of history. In the beginning there was only God, but in the end there is only us. Omega-Mart. Forever and ever. Because honestly, Albert, I think it’s time for us all to accept that He’s never coming back.”


  “I’m sorry you aren’t satisfied with that, but here we are. For a long time, we’ve been free to choose what kind of world we want, free to choose from the choices we’re given, and we’ve chosen this one, Albert. And as flawed as it is, as unfulfilling as you might find it, I can’t imagine a better one, can you? What would it look like, Albert? Pog? Was that your brave new world? Did you feel important in that fantasy place, finally? Tell me, Albert – if this was the planet Pog, and all of us were Pogs, what kind of Pog would you be?”

  Albert flinched, but didn’t look up. He stared mutely at the carpet, knowing the answer and refusing to say it.

  Had he been a Pog living on a Pog world, he would only have been one in a sea of millions, doomed to the shame of unconditional love, just as now he was only an average human on a human planet, not even tall enough to reach the highest branches of the highest trees. Whatever had once been special about him was gone, left behind on an unlikely planet in the weary universe of his lonely mind, and he was only Albert Zim -- ex-floor manager, Grid Square 717, Produce, Alpha Quadrant. He let out a long, slow sigh, and deflated in his chair.

  “I hate you,” he whispered.

  “Oh, don’t be that way, Albert,” said Mr. Edd, rising and approaching Albert’s sad husk. He placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder, and when Albert looked up he saw that the man’s smile had returned. Like a warm light at the end of a long, dark tunnel, it reassured him. “Come on.”

  Mr. Edd lifted Albert by his arm, letting the glue gun clatter to the floor, and led him gently toward the office door. “I see now that I was wrong to fire you, Albert,” he said. “It didn’t really solve anything; I should have known better. But now I’m going to fix that mistake – there’s an opening in one of my departments, one that I think you’ll be perfect for.”

  Albert looked up at him with tired eyes and slowly nodded as he shuffled out of the room. “You have a Rhinocermoose in your sewer,” he murmured.