Union File 8002

Uf 8002: Network (Story)

           “Yes,” Peter paced around the lift, “Role well played. Good for you,” He stopped and stared at the flash drive, “But what am I supposed to do with—”

           “Please transfer this device over to Chief Executive Osborne,” the robot slipped it into Peter’s shirt pocket, “Any incursions and injury is now your responsibility.”

           “What sort of customer service is that?”

          “I provide this service on behalf of the Chief Executive. He sent the orders to ensure your safety then give you this device once I assured your livelihood. All other parameters are classified,” it approached Peter again and aimed for his arm. Then it retracted, “Until you transfer the device.”

          Peter looked down at his arm. A small red pinprick now laid on his wrist. He looked back at the droid now staring at the ceiling lights, “What was that for?”

           “Precautionary methods,” The droid remained motionless, “To ensure satisfaction.”

          The whirring stopped. The door clicked and slid open. Peter walked out into a corridor lined with monitors broadcasting stock prices and market projections and lanterns between every other screen. He felt his ears ringing, ebbing in waves. He heard a small click and turned around to find the rusted metal door again. There were so many questions—the why and what I am doing here, the where am I, and so on—that he wanted to ask it.

           “Customer satisfaction,” Peter muttered.

           He walked on, trying to put his memory back together. All that came to mind was the snow and the room. Yet, he remembered running somewhere, but for what? Peter felt through his pocket for the device, coming across a small metal block. He sighed and went forward, hoping that whatever he did would solve itself. The Chief Executive what’s-his-face would be pleased to the gills and let him out into the streets. Maybe then he would go home, straight to Helen’s place for a spaghetti dinner and then cuddle over some nature documentaries.

          Peter pondered all this while climbing up a single flight of stairs. The ringing within his ears began to cease with every step. The more he could hear himself think, the more he could recall—the mail, the message—Peter stopped for a moment—them. What if they were waiting for him at the top and what about the Chief Executive?  All he could do was climb up.

         By the time he reached the top, the constant ringing became little more than a ping. He walked through a doorway into a huge room that reminded him of the Union’s Hall of Workers with the huge desks going from wall to wall. A throne laid at the other end of the room where a man sat looking down at a computer who said, “It’s about time you showed up.”

          Peter took out the small metallic block and held it out in his fist, “And what’s in it for me?”

         “Why concern yourself with that,” the man rose up from his desk, sauntering towards Peter, “I mean, now that you’re working with us.”

          “Sorry,” Peter said, “but I’m taken.”

          “Exactly,” the man stopped in front of Peter, holding a hand out, “Welcome to the Network.”

         Peter unclenched his fist and shook hands with this Network loyalist all dressed in a three-piece suit—black blazer, blue tie. Peter let go of whatever than chunk of computers was, “Yes, great act. Now where’s the exit?”

          The businessman sucked his teeth and groaned, “Insubordinate to the Chief Executive. On the first day too.”

           “Oh,” Peter eased himself, “You’re him.”