John 76359

by Frederick Zaccarini

  He had been asleep for twenty minutes.

  “Problem in level eight, there’s a fight going on between two chefs, one of them has been stabbed, it’s still going on.”

  “Use your discretion,” said Max. “Computer simulation, Pain Blocks, whatever, you deal with it. Oh, and notify all first level Managers I’m going out. You’re in charge!”

  “For fucks sake,” Max said out loud, as he threw a pencil at the monitor in a little tantrum.

  “Twelve first level managers, twenty second line managers, Christ knows how many assistants. None of the fukers can make a decision. They’re all brain dead!”

  The thing that really aggravated Max was the fact that the computer simulation of himself was so totally realistic, that nobody would ever be able to notice the difference. The twelve first level managers had been given full authorisation to use it. All they had to do was talk into the microphone, the computer did the rest. Pain Blocks were also available to them. Provided they completed all the necessary paper work there was no problem, and in the course of their duties if anyone was accidentally terminated, c’est la vie.

  Max made his way back to the centre of the pyramid and up the spiral staircase to his sleeping area and private lounge. Two sides of the glass structure at the upper level were non-transparent. Housed within this section was Max’s private facilities, his luxurious bathroom, shower room, steam room, and sauna. Also at this level was his fully appointed private lounge with panoramic south view across the vast rolling plains. Up a further four steps, the sleeping area and multi-gym which faced east to the rising sun. Casting his clothes aside in the middle of the lounge, Max walked naked to the showroom and quickly washed. Then back to the sleeping area, rubbing his scalp and dripping as he walked.

  “Wrap, volume 6!” he said out loud.

  An explosion of sound burst from the strategically placed speakers that surrounded his upper quarters. The powerful beat was systematically throbbing to the point of moving ornaments.

  “Volume 5!” he repeated. The noise decreased slightly.

  Max laughed out loudly recalling the morning he had put the volume up so high, that the voice activation control could not hear him telling it to stop. He was almost deaf by the time he had worked out how to switch it off manually. He smiled as he remembered the incident.

  Max was in a good mood now, ready for the day ahead. Moving to the beat, Max danced as he dressed. On went his favourite green silk shirt. Next Levis, tan leather belt and to finish, tan slip-on shoes no socks. “Timeless sounds!” he said, as he spoke with the music word for word. From the free standing wardrobe he lifted his best leather bomber jacket. Standing in front of the mirror which backed onto a shelf unit, Max struck a wide legged pose, raised the collar of his jacket, donned the black sunglasses, and said “Fucking perfect!”

  He grabbed the Rolex, a fistful of cash and again descended to the lower level. This area was divided into four main sections. The business area which contained a huge workstation, desk and computer terminal. This open S shaped console was eight metres in length and housed a vast amount of computer technology, including twenty five separate monitors.

  A reception area/business lounge, containing an extensive board room table. Next, the bar area and snooker table. And finally a fully fitted kitchen with startfast bar, which Max never used. The only two other notable things of interest were the circular aluminium lift shaft standing in the middle of the room, and a huge matt white Box four metres by six metres by four metres high. A door at either end along the six metre length, gave access to the rooms inside. The room to the right housed the toilet and washroom facilities, whilst the room to the left of the partition housed the video recording and transmission studio.

  “The architect must have run out of ideas when he came up with that abomination,” he thought.

  “Christ, what a shocking bit of design. Anyone who could have designed and built Tower Blocks this size and not put in enough lifts must have been fucking crazy.”

  But Max knew the real reason, it was because the company had been trying to save money. It turned out to be a costly saving.

  “I’d better sample myself before I go, he thought, save me from doing it when I get back.” He made for the left hand door in the box. He switched on the spotlights, stepped into the booth and sat down facing the camera.

  “Sample!” he said out loud. First the camera tracked to the left, then to the right, then finished in the centre.

  Max checked the monitor, and laughed out loud at the cool looking dude.

  “They’ll get a fucking shock if they’ve to broadcast this today,” he thought.

  Daily sampling was standard procedure for all directors, because if during a simulated transmission a situation got out of hand, the director could immediately cut in live and take control of the situation without the change over being noticed on screen.

  “No, I’ll be back before 7 p.m.” he thought, as he hit the delete button.

  “I’ll put on the black polo neck again.”

  Leaving the small room Max walked straight passed the Bar area and out through one of the four sliding glass doors which led out onto the roof. He pulled out another cigarette and turning with his back to the slight breeze, he cupped his hands to protect the virgin flame. With all the various methods now available to produce a flame Max still preferred to use old fashioned matches. There was something reassuring about igniting sulphur on a small piece of stick. In his head he tried to figure out how long the carton of 400 boxes would last. He had a real job sourcing that last batch. There were only a few companies left in the world who manufactured them. Turning, he crossed the spongy synthetic lawn, passed one of the rock gardens which led to the very edge of the Tower Block. He leaned over the small parameter wall. The breeze was starting to pick up now. Max zipped up his jacket whilst he finished the cigarette and flicked it out onto the ground, hundreds of metres below. The sun was starting to break through regularly now. The breeze was also starting to pick up. How he hated the wind. In the still summer evenings he would sit outside and watch the dying sun disappear over the horizon. In the freezing cold winter nights he could feel the whole pyramid rocking on the top of the building. There were some nights when he hardly got a sleep. But Max knew that this had been his last winter on tower block five. There were to be no more.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Brian 19232 was still absolutely furious at the way Max had spoken to him earlier on that morning,

  “Christ, between the management of staff, observational duties, operational problems, and the sanctioning of over a hundred decision requisition slips that found their way on to the eightieth floor every day, the job is a bloody nightmare,” he thought.

  “Computer simulations, pain blocks, whatever, you deal with it.

  Sure, stick a brush up my arse and I’ll sweep the floor at the same time. What an arsehole Max had become, and now that the commis chef involved in the fight this morning has gone and snuffed it, I’ll have even more fucking paper work to fill in.

  “Shit,” he said out loud.

  “I’m due off at ten, that’s in under two hours. I mean, how do I know if it was the pain block or the knife that killed the poor fucker,” he thought.

  “Christ, who does he think he is talking to me like that? Pain blocks, I’ll give him fucking pain blocks! If it hadn’t been for me in the first place he thought, he wouldn’t be the director now!”

  Brian’s thoughts stepped back in time some fifteen years. As a second line manager, part of his responsibilities had been to identify potential candidates for promotion. He remembered he had been watching Max 43437 for some months. His friends and colleagues seemed to respect and value young Max’s opinions. Brian had always liked the way he had managed to stay distant yet remain friendly towards so many of his work mates. Brian had Max under intense scrutiny, watching for any sign of weakness in his character, any obvious signs that he resented the manage
ment regime. There was none, or at least none that Brian could spot. At the time Brian had high hopes of reaching the top himself. Once he was sure that Max was the right person to be promoted, he was approached and invited to attend an interview. Brian recalled how Max had performed on that day. He had been confident and self-assured.

  “An extremely polished performance,” had been the decision of the three second line managers who were present at the interview. Brian had been awarded his choices of R.A.R. (Recommend a Recruit) promotional gifts. He recalled going for the jumbo carton of the finest machine rolled Chinese cigars and six litre bottles of the famous twenty five year old Japanese whisky Fukuoca Bad Breath. He also recalled having to split the goodies three ways. There was no way his other two bastards colleagues were going to approve his choice of appointment unless he split the booty.

  Not long after the interview, Brian had been promoted to first level manager and Max was on the first rung of the management ladder. At this level not many perks were available to the young Max, but not having to get up at six o’clock in the morning to go and work, was definitely one of them. Also, he had found out at a later date that pain blocks were never used on management, except under extreme circumstances. Instead they would be put under a corrective therapy treatment to restore their commitment and loyalty to the company. There was no going back, not alive anyway. Although therapy was the official company policy, it was hardly ever sanctioned by the then director Andy Lenard. He had been a quiet, thoughtful, ponderous person who had always tried to achieve the best results from those round about him by steering a middle course through the rocks of controversy. A minimalist in every sense of the word. His biggest problem was the fact that he never ever recognised that he had one. His lack of action was often translated as a weakness by those around him with an axe to grind. A trusting person, latterly it was to be his undoing.

  Almost from the first day in his new job Max was to be despised by his former friends and work mates. Running between management and workers like a yo-yo, taking tales upstairs, decisions downstairs, a lachie to be used and abused by the system. Max had known, however, that it would not be easy. It had not really concerned him anyway, he was already working to a different agenda. Max, the perfect recruit liked and trusted by his new equals and piers. Brian had also gained substantial qudos from the recommendation and saw his goal of a directorship growing closer and closer. Max had only been an assistant for about nine months when a new vacancy as second line manager had arisen. There had been a great buzz of excitement at assistant level when the news had filtered through. The story which had circulated at the time, was that Robert 23398 had been terminated after failing to be turned by the use of corrective therapy treatment. This decision had apparently been forced on Andy by four of the strongest first level managers who had not been prepared to accept Robert’s wild tantrums any longer.

  “Buzz Buzz!”

  It was Max from upstairs. Brian answered the call.

  “I’m off now, I’ll be back before the siren,” he said sharply. “Did you sort out the incident?”

  “Yes sir. Everything’s under control,” said Brian. “I’m afraid he died.” Brian had no idea he was talking to the simulation.

  Max had on the silk shirt, leather jacket and sun glasses but Brian still saw him in the black polo neck.

  “Have the paperwork on my desk for me when I get back will you? Oh! And send up the cleaners and gardeners.” Before Brian could acknowledge the request, the screen went blank.

  Brian looked up at the other three first level managers who were presently on duty. Two of them, Tony 20571 and Doug 24912 were within close proximity and had overheard the quick dry discussion between Max and Brian. The other, Colin 23754, was out of ear shot working on his monitor over on the other side of the room. The fleeting eye contact glance between the two closest men warned Brian to be on his best behaviour. If they were waiting for another slip up, like the

  “What a bastard,” description he had already blurted out earlier that morning well, they were going to be out of luck.

  “I wonder what’s wrong with him this morning,” he said quietly and calmly. Brian could sense their disappointment at his reaction and he laughed inside.

  “I don’t really know,” said Tony feigning interest, as he continued working, occasionally glancing up just to make sure he was not missing anything that was going on. Doug failed to acknowledge Brian’s question. Instead, he simply grinned at Tony’s pathetic attempt at sincerity, while he watched several birds dart and skip around between the tower blocks two hundred metres below.

  From the live cameras at the rear of the tower block, Brian saw Max departing in the ancient Porche 922. From the belly of the building Max was catapulted out along the straight dusty road, like a torpedo launched from a submarine.

  “Fuck’m,” thought Brian, as Max disappeared into the distance.

  Brian continued with his work, and his reminiscing. He had replayed the young Max sequence over and over in his head many times before, as he had desperately tried to fathom out the secret of his success. After the termination of Robert all those years earlier, Brian had thought that he would take advantage of the situation by taking the young Max under his wing. Max was working for all the other first level managers and Brian would have been able to keep tabs on his colleagues. There had been only three other managers who really had concerned him at the time. Keith 20571 had been one of his main rivals, along with Tony 20852 and Jim 28993 on the other shift.

  It was late one evening when Brian and Max had struck the unholy alliance. Most of the assistants had been in the management canteen having their simulated coffee. Only one other assistant had been on duty at the time, and he was playing patience on the computer. Two of the other managers had been fast asleep, one of them he remembered was lying slouched in the chair like a pissed rag doll. The other had his feet up on the desk, gaping mouth, and had farted regularly at three minute intervals. In a discreet tete-a-tete, Brian had suggested that Max might be willing to become his ally by keeping him informed on all other first level managers. This would have enabled Brian to position himself favourably in order to mount the next serious leadership challenge, should the opportunity ever arise. In return Brian was to see to it that Max would be promoted yet again to first line manager. And so the deal was struck. Max was to become the sorcerer’s apprentice.

  CHAPTER

  4

  John 76359 ascended from the ground. It was Saturday evening and he was tired, it had been a long and hard six days since his last day off. As he walked back along the avenue towards the imposing tower blocks ahead, he was conscious of the quietness that now prevailed amongst the moving throng of men. Surrounded on all sides he was carried forward in the flow like a river plunging through a tight ravine. Some of the younger boys jumped up onto the side walls and skipped along the top trying to push each other off into the crowd as they precariously walked an imaginary tight rope.

  “They’re young,” he thought.

  “It’s still new to them.”

  The two Tower Blocks ahead were completely illuminated from top to bottom, and stood out, silhouetted against the setting sun. John was starving after missing his startfast earlier that day. During work he had tried to barter a packed lunch from one of his work mates, but to no avail. Three hundred metres from the tower blocks the crowd started to open up slightly. John broke into a slow trot weaving in and out he hurriedly made his way forward. Glancing up and to the right John checked for Orion. As usual, it was there!

  Arriving at the queuing barriers to the lift, John guessed that he would have a ten minute wait before it would be his turn. He seriously considered running up the stairs, but thought better of it and waited. Behind him now the swell of tired, hungry men forced him closer and closer to the doors. He entered with the next load, pushed forward by the weight of the following bodies which pressed him to the rear of the lift and to which he clung, an inanimate object o
n the wall of death. Unable to turn round, he was almost deafened by the erupting verbal outbursts caused by the desperate attempts of too many workers all trying to squash in at one time. The continual opening and closing of automatic doors only making matters worse. Finally they closed, the lift went up.

  On his departure at the fiftieth floor John stepped aside and took a moment as the pack charged off towards the upper food dispensary on the next level.

  “Christ I’d better get a move on before the next lot get up,” he thought as he headed off in the same direction.

  The dispensary, like its busier counterpart on the second floor, occupied the entire surface area of the fifty first level. This was divided into ten four metre wide double sided serving lanes which demanded one third of the available space, the rest being allocated to a token seating arrangement which was always over crowded.

  Joining one of the nearest queues John soon made his way along the servery.

  “Chickstrich,” he said to the young fresh faced boy who was nervously serving soup behind a stainless steel counter.

  The lad then proceeded to ladle the pale yellow glutinous substance into the large bowl shaped depression in John’s tray.

  “A little more please,” said John adding a reassuring smile to comfort the obvious newcomer who had retracted the ladle rather quicker than he should have. John took a handful of bread and moved on.

  John had seen the next person serving, many times before. Aldo was his name. He was detested by most of the workers who had watched him regularly showing off by bullying his younger charges. John approached the man.