Grow Up

by Craig Anderson

  “That sounds pretty OP. Why didn’t they just crush everyone else and rule the galaxy?”

  “As I said, they have no need of natural resources, so they have nothing to gain. Even if they did, Blurglings do not multiply like other creatures. They divide and recombine themselves to create new individuals, which means that invading another planet would mean abandoning this one. All they desire is to be left alone.”

  “But the Galactic Corp have other ideas?”

  “Yes,” said the Ship’s Computer. “The G.C. only believes in one thing. Growth. They grow, or they die. The larger a competing company is, the more they wish to take over. The new legal system was created to prevent the loss of life in pointless wars, but it works directly against the Blurglings by removing their key advantage in a fight. The G.C. can take the entire planet by wearing down the Company in a protracted legal battle, and if they are victorious they can legally come and take whatever they like.”

  Before Josh could ask any more questions the lift doors opened and a small robot wheeled out. It spat out a giant flask of liquid buzz beans, a huge round purple fruit, and a Mech Controller, before wheeling back into the lift.

  Josh glared at the M.C. “What’s that for? I told you I’m not practicing on that. You better not be trying to pull a fast one.”

  “I’m not pulling on anything, quickly or slowly. Your game controller maps directly on to the Mech Controller but it is still using it as a relay, it does not have the required technology to control the mech by itself. I determined it was better to use the real thing in your testing, rather than having me make assumptions that may not prove to be accurate in a real-world scenario. Besides, if you have told Shift you are going to practice here it will be hard to defend yourself if you do not have the appropriate controller.”

  Josh nodded. Sounded like the Computer had thought this through after all. He scooped up the buzz beans and took a long swig, feeling the tiredness ebb away. Then he picked up the purple fruit. It was heavy; he could barely lift it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Tap the top.”

  He did and the fruit opened into eight equally sized segments. He almost dropped it in the process. Josh quickly placed it on the bed, which was far more useful as a table. He removed one of the portions and tentatively bit into it. It was sickeningly sweet, but he was so hungry he wolfed down the entire slice, and then three more in quick succession.

  As the buzz beans started to kick in, Josh kicked off his shoes and said, “Pull up a sim, one on one, two Ticket Busters, but make the opponent stationary for the time being. No attacks, I just want them to stand there.”

  “What is the purpose of this exercise?”

  “I need to get a feel for the targeting controls.”

  “There are seventeen buttons on the mech controller related to targeting. Each one manipulates the weapons in a different manner to allow for precision aiming.”

  “That explains a lot. Can lawyers move and aim at the same time?”

  “Those with more than four limbs can, although it is impractical. For the manually aimed weapons it is more customary for a mech to stand still to get an accurate bead on their target. Some missiles have their own targeting systems, and those can be fired with minimal aiming, which is why they are favoured against faster-moving targets.”

  “The whole thing sounds clunky. I’m sure we can do better. Listen up, here’s what we are going to do…”

  ***

  Gargle was exhausted, or more accurately, his shell was. His feet hurt, his fingertips were singed, and his uniform was dripping with sweat. He hadn’t stopped moving in the entire time he had been in the kitchen, running from station to station, slowly figuring out a better way to do everything. Every time he thought he had mastered it a new job would get thrown his way, until soon he was performing several at once. The faster he performed his tasks, the more tasks they gave him. It was dull, monotonous, and never-ending.

  He had also discovered something interesting. The harder he worked, the slower all the other staff became. It was as if there was a group productivity level, and there was no clear way to exceed it, no matter how much he did as an individual. At one point he was the only one running around the kitchen, while four other staff members stood around and chatted.

  Despite the lack of help, or possibly because of it, Gargle had quickly discovered a variety of process improvements, ranging from minor to dramatic. He estimated that implementing even a handful of them would improve overall throughput of the kitchen by almost 50%. This was his chance to impress a superior and make Josh look good.

  He tried to find Frank, but there was no sign of him. The door to his office was shut, with a small yellow note stuck on the door that said Do not Disturb! As Gargle approached, a young man working on the front counter shook his head. “He’s still napping in there.”

  “I have urgent matters to discuss with him.”

  “Is the kitchen on fire?”

  Gargle peered over the food hopper to double check. “No.”

  “Then it isn’t urgent. You should really know this by now, I thought you’d been here a while?”

  Gargle got out of there before he gave himself away.

  Eventually Frank emerged from his office and wandered into the kitchen, looking a little groggy. He took one look at Gargle and said, “Look at the state of you! Is that ketchup on my uniform? You’ll be paying for the dry cleaning. Go smarten yourself up, I just got word that head office is on their way to assess my Mega Egger, to see if it deserves a spot on the regional menu.”

  “There are items I would like to discuss with you,” Gargle said.

  “We don’t have time for your complaining right now, important people are on their way. Go clean up, now.”

  It was another simple task. Gargle was getting the sense that this particular leader didn’t have the capacity to give out anything more complicated. With a fixed grin he said, “I will do as requested.”

  There were already three young men in the locker room, who were changing out of their uniforms. They saw Gargle and one of them said, “Is Dickhead sending you home too?”

  “I don’t believe so. He told me to come back here and adjust my uniform to look presentable for a visit from head office.” He thought for a moment and added, “Is that like High Command?”

  “Dunno,” said the other guy, who slammed his locker shut. “All I know is that Dickhead sent all the lads on the front counter home early. Said he needs to make a good impression on the bigwigs.”

  “Missus isn’t expecting me home for another 2 hours. Fancy a pint?” said the tall one to the other two.

  “Might as well.”

  “Go on then.”

  The three of them, appearing a little cheerier than before, all strolled out of the locker room.

  Gargle did his best to clean up his appearance, but this uniform wasn’t making it very easy. The ketchup stains refused to budge, and there wasn’t much to be done with the sweat patches either. He couldn’t be seen like this. Thankfully the three guys had left their lockers open, clearly not concerned that anyone would steal their uniforms.

  He picked the best-fitting and cleanest parts of all three uniforms, making a promise to return them afterwards. It was a dramatic improvement, or at least as good as it was going to get with this eyesore of a uniform.

  Strolling back into the kitchen revealed a very different scene. The counters sparkled, the bin full of wasted food was miraculously empty, and the staff were moving with something resembling hustle.

  It didn’t take long to figure out why. A lady in an elegantly tailored suit was strolling around holding a clipboard, with Frank following closely behind her. She smiled at each staff member and carefully observed what they were doing, before checking things off. Head Office had arrived.

  Another staff member nudged Gargle and said, “Look busy, if you piss off corporate, Frank won’t hesitate to fire you on the spot.”

  Gargle did as request
ed. He checked the order screen and saw that they needed six cheeseburgers, four hamburgers, and two Mega Eggers. He made his way over to the grill and got started.

  A polite cough behind him made him look round. The lady from Head Office was smiling at him. “Hello, young man. May I ask what you are doing?”

  “I am making Mega Eggers,” Gargle replied, flipping over the perfectly circular eggs with ease.

  “How are they to cook?” she asked, pen hovering over her checklist.

  “They are highly inefficient,” Gargle said, doing his best to concentrate. Frank’s expression changed to one of shock and he tried to interrupt, but the woman held up her hand.

  “How so?” she asked.

  “Well, this is our main grill, and it can hold nine burgers, but it is also required for the eggs, which are large enough to take up two spots each. Each Mega Egger has two eggs, so the most Mega Eggers you can make at a time is two, which also completely blocks the grill from being used for regular burgers. Based on the ratio of orders I have made tonight our regular cheeseburger outsells the Mega Egger fourteen to one, but the Mega Egger takes longer to make and reduces our cheeseburger throughput, delaying orders. I calculate that cheeseburger wait times were increased by almost 65% due to the presence of the Mega Egger.”

  The lady made several notes, while Frank slowly turned a deep shade of purple. Frank said, “Obviously we are still working out some of the kinks…”

  “I have given this considerable thought, and without the purchase of an additional grill I cannot see how the efficiency can be improved. I do however have some suggestions for other improvements, not related to the Mega Egger.”

  “Have you raised these with your manager?” she asked, curious.

  “I tried too, but he was sleeping.”

  “Oh really?” She glanced at Frank and made a note. Then she said, “Could you give me an example of an improvement?”

  “It is easier if I show you.” Gargle walked across the kitchen, counting as he went. He pulled a hamburger out of the freezer drawer. Then he turned and walked back, still counting. As he threw it on the grill he said, “17 wasted steps, for just the first part of the process. To make one batch of cheeseburgers requires 59 steps, only 16 of which are actually necessary. The grill can accommodate nine burgers, but the bun toaster can only handle six buns in the time it takes to cook them, holding up the entire batch. We should be toasting buns continuously, to build up a backlog for the busy periods. The kitchen in general is poorly laid out, and a few small tweaks would lead to a considerable improvement in overall efficiency. It is a simple shortest path problem.” He held out his hand and the lady handed over the clipboard, looking rather bemused. Gargle flipped over the piece of paper and sketched a new layout. One thing he had learned as a courier was efficient routing. It wasn’t perfect—he was sure with more experience he could improve it further—but it was dramatically better than what they had now.

  The woman stared at the new layout, doing her best to understand it. It took a moment for it to fully click, but when it did, she gasped. “This is outstanding. How long have you been working on this?”

  “Four hours and seventeen minutes,” he said.

  “Please excuse me, I need to make a phone call.”

  As she skipped away, Frank grabbed Gargle by the arm and squeezed a little too hard. “What game do you think you’re playing?”

  “Honestly, I am not sure. The rules are still mostly unclear.”

  “You’re going to fix this. You’re going to tell that woman you are wrong, and that the Mega Egger is a great menu item.” He poked Gargle in the chest.

  “But it is not. Why would I intentionally deceive a senior member of the company? I tried to tell you myself, but as I said, you were unavailable.” This whole thing wasn’t making any sense. Gargle had been expecting praise for saving the company from an embarrassing and costly mistake, but instead Frank was now mad at him. Perhaps if he explained in more simple terms. “The Mega Egger is not good. It is bad. It will lose money, and customers, and will be bad for the company. I have prevented you from making a terrible mistake.”

  Frank’s whole body shook, his fists trembled, and his eyes twitched. Gargle prepared himself for yet another physical confrontation, but the reality was far more serious. Frank said, “Get out. You’re fired.”

  “For protecting the company’s financial interests?”

  “Out. Now!” Frank was shouting now, and the other staff members were staring.

  Gargle slowly walked into the locker room and changed back into his school uniform, being careful to return the borrowed items to their respective lockers.

  He went out of the back entrance and felt the blast of cold air hitting him as he stepped outside. The sun was dipping below the horizon, and there wasn’t another one to take its place. It was getting dark.

  This was bad. He had messed up. He’d gotten Josh fired from his job. How was he going to explain this? Would he be terminated?

  Gargle started walking away from the Mega Burger as the garishly lit sign flickered to life, the cartoon pirate waving goodbye. He pulled out Josh’s communicator to find his way home, and noticed several missed calls from the Dad, along with a message that said:

  Where are you?

  He slowly tapped out his reply. Was aT Mega Burger. On wAy hOme.

  That was his best attempt yet.

  Ok. I’m at work now, can’t talk. Dinner in fridge. Make sure you STUDY!

  He was about to reply when he heard someone shouting his name, or rather, his shell’s name.

  “Josh!”

  He looked around for the source of the noise and saw the three men from earlier sitting on a wooden bench outside a large, well-lit building with a sign that said it was called the Jolly Otter. They had several empty glasses in front of them, and Gargle suddenly realized he was parched. He’d been so busy running around the hot kitchen he had forgotten to drink anything.

  “I thought you were parading around with management? What are you doing out here?”

  “I was terminated,” Gargle said, the reality setting in.

  “What? That’s bollocks, mate. You worked your arse off tonight, why did Dickhead fire you?”

  “Honestly, I am not entirely sure. I tried to help him.”

  “Sounds about right,” said the shorter guy. “I’m getting the next round in, what will you have?”

  “I don’t understand the question,” Gargle said.

  “Just get him a pint,” said the taller one, before turning to Gargle. “Just do us a favour and lose the school tie, even dim Gary behind the bar isn’t daft enough to serve someone wearing a school uniform.”

  Gargle obliged, slipping the tie in his pocket. The short one returned from inside with a tray. He placed a tall glass of yellow liquid in front of Gargle, who picked it up and studied it. He tried sipping it, but the taste was awful and he immediately spat it out.

  The tall one laughed. “Oy Simon, I don’t think Josh here has had a pint before. Show him how it’s done.”

  Simon picked up his matching glass of yellow liquid, held it up to his mouth, and violently tipped it upwards. Gargle was certain the liquid would splash on his face, but instead it vanished into his open mouth. Most impressive.

  “Try again!” Simon said, letting out a loud belch.

  Gargle tried copying this new method by taking a hearty glug of his drink. He almost choked, but it stayed down, with the added benefit that he had barely tasted it. He tried another big glug, and then another. It really helped to quench his thirst. When he finished the drink, the other guys cheered and slapped him on the back. “Nice one! I knew you were alright. Want another?” Simon asked.

  “I guess,” Gargle said, feeling oddly confident about his answer.

  “Turnip, Bazzer, same again?”

  The other two nodded. As Simon went inside the one called Turnip said, “You look upset, Josh, what’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know what to d
o. I have lost my job, and now I am unsure of my purpose.”

  Turnip laughed. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, a smart kid like you will have a new job in no time at all.”

  “But how do I do that? Will I be assigned one?”

  “What? No, just go ask around. You’ll be off to university soon anyway, I wouldn’t even bother. You’ll be too busy shagging and getting pissed.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Gargle said, hoping for an explanation. He didn’t have these words in his vocabulary yet.

  “Don’t play the innocent card with me, no-one downs a pint like that first time.” Turnip nudged him in the arm playfully. Then he added, “I’m actually jealous. I wish Dickhead would fire me and put me out of my misery. I’ve been telling myself I’m going to quit every day for the last 18 months.”

  “Why don’t you?” Gargle asked, genuinely curious. The concept of being able to leave a job and simply acquire another was still mind-boggling to him. If that were the case, why would anyone work in a job they did not enjoy?

  “I’ve got a criminal record. No-one will hire me. I think Frank only did because he was too lazy to do the proper background checks. I might despise it, but it pays the bills, even if the money is crap.”

  “Money seems very important here,” Gargle said, more to himself.

  “You ain’t wrong. Can’t do anything without it. That’s what got me in trouble in the first place. I tried to rob a bank.”

  “Rob a bank?”

  “Yeah. Mad ain’t it. I almost got away with it too. Had over a hundred grand in a suitcase, but the sneaky bastards put one of those ink pouches in with the money. I copped a face-full when I got back to my hideout and tried to count it. The stuff didn’t come off for days. Eventually the cops found my getaway car abandoned in a nearby alley, and they did a door-to-door search of the area. It was hard to protest my innocence with a bright-purple face!” He let out a deep belly laugh, and Gargle found himself joining in. Turnip said, “They call me a bank robber, but the CEO of the exact same bank got caught insider trading and he made twenty million quid. They gave him a slap on the wrist and fired him, with a two million quid golden parachute of course. Didn’t even take the insider trading money back. Honestly, if you’re rich you can get away with pretty much anything. It’s criminal.”