Fungus For Hire, Part One: A Study in Verdure - Prologue

Michael Devlin sat at a neat little desk in a neat little cubicle pushing a large green button every time it lit up. It was the only button on his desk. It was the only thing on his desk. In fact, the sole purpose of Michael’s desk was to be something on which this button could exist.

Michael pushed the button. It was, after all, what he was born to do. He was an eighteenth generation miner. His family had been miners since they had immigrated at gunpoint[1] to Beta 77 Orionis Ophiuchi II[2], and they were a well-respected family within the mining community. They didn't just get invited to all the good parties; the parties weren't good unless someone from Michael’s family was there.

Michael’s button lit again. He was preparing to push it when a stray thought[3] collided with just the right neurons to wake some long atrophied part of his brain. Incredibly, he hesitated. In regards to button pushing, hesitation was frowned upon by the mining community. It was something they carefully bred out, and there were no hesitators hanging from the branches of Michael’s family tree.[4]

Soon, his hesitation stretched and escaped from its cocoon of non-action as a full-fledged pause. He was pausing. Michael was sure that one of his ancestors had had someone killed for less. Pausing just wasn't done.

He stared at the glowing green button. It was green and it was glowing. If Michael had the imagination of a stunned hamster he might have thought the button was taunting him. ‘Push me,’ it might have seemed to say. ‘Maybe something different will happen this time. Go on, push me.’ But Michael had no such imagination, which is probably what had allowed him to remain sane after fifteen years of pushing the same button. Imagination had also been carefully bred out.[5]

Suddenly, the button blinked. It was glowing, and then it wasn't, and then it was glowing again. This was new; he’d never seen a button blink before. It was exhilarating, and Michael’s heart raced as only the heart of a fifteen-year veteran button-pusher can race. He pushed his chair back and looked into the cubicle to his left  at a tall man hunched over a similar green button.

“Joe,” said Michael.

“Yeah, Mike?” replied Joe, carefully maintaining eye contact with his own green button.

“What happens if I don’t push the button?”

Startled, Joe looked up, breaking eye contact with his button. “Why wouldn’t you push the button? Is something wrong? Did you get yellow-finger?” Joe stared at Michael’s hands while pushing himself up against the wall of his cubicle farthest from Michael.

“No, I was just wondering what would happen if I didn’t push the button.”

“Huh?”

Michael heard a chiming sound, which made him look back at his desk. A pleasant female voice, coming from the vicinity of his button, was telling him to please press the green button. It was blinking now, on and off, on and off. It was mesmerizing. Michael wasn't sure, but the blinking seemed to be getting faster. He looked at Joe again.

“What if I just didn’t want to push the button? What would happen?”

“Why wouldn’t you want to push it? That’s what it’s there for.”

“Yes, but what would happen if I didn’t?”

“I don’t know, Mike.” Joe’s eyes were darting wildly, as if looking for an escape route. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Michael could see Joe getting nervous, so he smiled in what he hoped was a placating way, but he wasn't very familiar with smiles so accomplished what could be described as a mad rictus. “Forget I asked.”