S I A [#Wattys2016]

2. Task Kill

Technician #479 had been so excited when given this assignment, ecstatic at being handpicked to birth SIA, one of only a dozen model-D bots being birthed. It proved there had been a point, a reason for all his grueling years in Construction, first as a Picker, rushing to and fro, 'round and 'round the lower floors of the factory to collect the necessary parts in the allotted seconds, the supervisor yelling in everyone's ear...

Do you want to be replaced by a hunk of metal? 'Cause they will replace you without a thought unless you give 'em a reason to keep you meatbags. So make your times!

Then as a Courier, which was somewhat better even though he still had to make his times, because at least then he'd had his electric cart to move the endless boxes and boxes, so many heavy boxes. And only sometimes would he have to move the bodies, those Pickers who'd collapsed or died on the spot, their heart or legs or lungs finally spent.

He didn't mind carting the bodies so much, since he'd had just such a collapser to thank for his first job as a Picker -- the woman had collapsed right at his feet, and administrators pulled him out of the line leading to Janitorial, for which he'd originally been hired. He'd heard Janitorial was even harder than Picking and for much less pay, so he was grateful for the improved opportunity.

(He'd also heard that those employed in Janitorial would never have to worry about being replaced by bots, because "the guys over in corporate are sadistic pricks, and they'd never let that happen." Which made him appreciate the guys over in corporate just a little bit more, even though he'd never made it to Janitorial himself, and didn't know what was meant by sadistic pricks.)

And then, luckiest of all: that time when one of those sadistic pricks from corporate had driven all the way across town for a factory visit.

The corporate executive had gathered everyone on the floor during the lunch break; the courier stood against his cart at the edge of the throng while the executive spoke about productivity and something called synergy. A loose screw glinted on the ground in the dim factory light. The courier had instantly known in that way he sometimes just knew that the executive would slip on that screw and fall, and that it would be bad for them all.

And so, Courier #479 did the only thing he could think to do: he dove to the ground to retrieve the screw. He was too slow though, and the corporate exec was already on his way down. The courier adjusted his body mid-dive, swiping the screw as he held up the sadistic prick by the back of his fancy black jacket.

"What the fucking hell?" the corporate exec yelled at the courier.

"I'm sorry, sir. B-b-but, I saw this screw on the ground." The courier held up the offensive scrap. "I wanted to stop you from falling on it."

"Oh," the executive said, brushing his pants, adjusting his jacket. "Well. Good catch. You saw it from over there in your cart?"

"Yes, sir. Can't be too careful. A screw or something could trip me up bad, so I keep my eyes on the floor. To make my times, you see."

"Well, that is excellent commitment. And what fine attention to detail, courier number..." he leaned closer to peer at the courier's badge, "...four seven nine."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir."

Then the corporate exec turned to the administrator who hovered behind them, a reluctant shadow. "Do you see that? A courier with more commitment and attention to detail than you! Why was there a screw on the floor in the first damn place? What kind of sloppy crew are you running here? Maybe you're trying to steal from the company--"

"No! N-n-no sir, no. I would never."

"Maybe I should give Courier #479 your job. How about it courier, would you like a promo--"