Dead Reckoning and Other Stories

by David M. Kelly

  "That is so gross. With their hands? Yuch. I'm still eating." Mel crunched the last of her beans. "Do you want to hear this?"

  Dan would have listened to Mel no matter what she wanted to talk about, but never managed to tell her that. Again he thought about the tickets. "Mel, I was wondering... never mind, tell me."

  "It's so expensive. They've put up the price three times this month alone. It's getting to the point where it's hardly worth working at all. It's like we're going backwards. Remember when we first started? I signed up for that subscription on Scientific Business Management. Had to give it up, can't afford it."

  "Do you think you'd be better off on subsistence tokens and zero health credits?" Dan regretted it immediately when Mel glared at him, the light from the mass of displays around them reflecting in her eyes like burning flames.

  "The book said people learned what they needed themselves and it made me think. Wouldn't people be more flexible and creative if they did that? Everyone would see things a little different. It wouldn't be just the same-old-shinkers. I'm sure I could run this place as well as old Magleby, maybe better. When was the last time the company introduced a new product line?"

  Dan shook his head. The R D team only seemed to produce more variants of the same product lines. Bigger surfaces maybe, a few more tweaks to the attention recognition software, but that was about it. His gaze lingered on the screens behind Mel for too long and they immediately reacted to his inadvertent attention and accessed his personal marketing profile, splashing the walls with a series of lurid dating ads. He looked back at Mel, hoping she hadn't noticed.

  But Mel was still deep in her own thoughts. "Think about it. If you got stuck, you'd figure out how to solve it yourself. Not just do what the MemPlant tells you." Mel chewed the inside of her cheek. "Work would be fun and then people could improve and get better jobs by working hard, not just because they can pay."

  Dan noticed Mel was breathing faster, her face slightly flushed as she talked. It made his skin tingle, but what she was saying was just nuts.

  "Look around, Mel. Do you see anyone looking for 'flexible' people? Do you see a pile of vacancies for creative people? Have you ever heard of people having fun at work? Of course not, because it doesn't exist. That's the sort of fluffy nonsense you'd see in a kids' show, right alongside unicorns, elves and the handsome Prince." He squirmed slightly, hoping Mel wouldn't rile up at his comments. "That's not all though. Where would you get all these books from? I've only ever seen them in museums and on 3V shows. Not to mention that the information would be out of date."

  "You could learn the principles and then adapt to new situations."

  "What about certification? If you learned everything there was to know about being, say a brain surgeon, that doesn't make you qualified to operate on people. You can't just claim you know something, you have to be able to prove it."

  "They tested people, made them prove they learned it."

  "What does that show? What if someone cheated? What if they learned something then forgot it? It would be a complete waste of time."

  "It's not a waste. I learned the last two week's updates without the V-Up. I'm still on version 2017.451.095," Mel hissed. "I did it by watching the other women. You know there wasn't hardly anything different."

  "Oh jeez. Mel? What are you doing?" Dan checked his MemPlant. "You're not two Vs behind, you're three!"

  "Sure. But I know everything just the same." Mel was annoyed; she'd expected Dan to understand if anyone would. She'd got the idea that maybe he wanted to be more than friends, but he'd never once dropped even a hint and now she wondered if he just wasn't interested. "And I haven't had to pay for the last three either."

  Dan rubbed his fingers against the rough plastic tabletop. He worked in Quality Control and when he thought about it, he couldn't remember any real changes in his own work. It was a dull routine with almost mind-numbing petty detail variations. But that was probably because of the lack of product innovation.

  "What if you don't know it all? What if there's something not obvious and you miss it. You could be fired for improper procedure maintenance." He suddenly felt the urge to escape, if only temporarily, to gather his thoughts. "I need a drink - want one?"

  Mel nodded and he shuffled over to the vending machine. Checking that the Orange juice had three heart icons he paid for two through his MemPlant. Mel always insisted on the "three heart" healthy option, so he did too. The drinks were frosty enough to make his fingertips prickle as he carried them back and set them down on the table.

  Mel leaned closer as he sat back down, her voice even quieter than earlier. "There's something else, Dan."

  Dan groaned. What else could there be? "Listen, Mel. If it's a problem, I'll let you have the credits to pay. I should have enough." He wondered how much the Strones tickets would sell for, not as much as he'd paid that was certain.

  "Don't be silly. Listen to me though. Dan, what if they limit what they tell us? Maybe they don't tell us everything."

  "Sure they do." Dan was confused. "That's why we pay the subscription."

  "What if you wanted more than this?" Mel spun her finger in the air. "What then?"

  "Then I'd hope I came from a rich family so I could pay the V-Ups, of course. Or you could save like crazy and buy them yourself I guess." Dan shrugged. "I don't understand."

  "The way things are, we're going to do this forever. There's no way we can move up because they don't give us enough information. We're just office slaves and that's all we'll ever be. And why do the V-Ups cost so much?"

  Mel slurped her juice. "I've got a friend. He works over at Tren-Hump Cortical. He told me that the V-Ups cost next to nothing. It's a bunch of standard programs. The same for everyone in each job type. So the cost of producing them gets split over thousands of people."

  "A friend?" Dan suddenly felt very unhappy.

  "Sure. What of it?"

  "Nothing." Dan crunched the orange carton into a twisted mess. "Did he say how much?"

  "Less than a buck each."

  Dan couldn't believe it. He'd paid over three hundred for V-Ups the last month alone and they'd told him the fees were going up the next time.

  "What if I wanted to be a pilot?" said Mel. "Between rent, eating, and V-Ups there's not much left over - I could never afford that."

  "Then you should probably have been born to parents who were pilots. Or maybe join the military. That's always an option."

  "And you don't see anything wrong with that?"

  Mel was breathing heavily and Dan sensed her frustration. Yes, it was boring and mindless. But it was better than being out of work. By a long way. Without a job there was no health protection, you lived on subsistence tokens that could only be exchanged for the very barest of essentials (unless you went to an illegal token dealer), and lived in Community dorms. At least working you could buy a few comforts.

  "Who is this anonymous 'they' anyway?" he asked. "Are you talking about some kind of conspiracy? The V-Ups are managed by the government. They have inspectors and controls to make sure everything is legitimate. They wouldn't let it be abused. How would that benefit them?"

  "I don't know. But just imagine if you taught yourself. Nothing could stop you. You could do anything, be anything you wanted. There'd be nothing to stop you. You'd be free to do anything. Don't you see?"

  "Maybe. I guess..." Dan wondered how it would feel, someone like him becoming a pilot or space-ship engineer.

  Mel's supervisor stuck her head through the door. "Lunch finished three minutes ago. You should be back at your stations."

  "Yes, Ms. Razo," Mel and Dan chorused.

  Ms. Razo paused, checking her MemPlant. "Mel, you're off accounts processing and assigned to general duties. Please ensure you V-Up before the end of the week or it may be permanent - or worse. I'm also warning your supervisor to keep a close eye on you, Mr. Gill."

  Mel's shoulders sagged. "Yes, Ms. Razo."

  They hurried from the canteen. Mel tur
ned left at the first corner and Dan started to turn towards the testing labs, then stopped.

  "Mel?" Dan pulled the tickets out of his pocket, the holographic surfaces glittering in the meager light that managed to fight through the grimy windows. "About the Strones?"

  "Sure, Dan. We can go I guess." She kept her back to him, not wanting him to see her tears of frustration and defeat.

  "And Mel?" Dan stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Maybe after, we could read some of your books together?"

  Mel's heart seemed to swell inside her chest and she smiled back at Dan before hurrying down the corridor.

  The End

  This is another piece of "flash fiction". At work everyone is expected to keep up to date with all the latest technology and processes as well as being "certified" even if the certification is meaningless and provides nothing more than a check-mark on a manager's list. At the same time, companies and organizations don't want to pay for their staff to go on training, they don't want to give people time to train or even support them by giving them time for self-learning. Combine this with the ever-increasing trend toward "pay to play" and the cell-phone model of business and we have this story. This was another one I essentially dreamt, waking up with the whole thing pretty much fully-formed.

  A Slight Imperfection

  Alec Myre dragged the old-fashioned wet razor down the left side of his neck and stopped. For a second he saw a mark there, a slight whitening of the skin a few millimeters across. He scoffed at his moment of paranoia and went back to shaving, only to stop again almost immediately.

  No—he wasn't going crazy. There was another mark on the opposite side of his neck, a mirror image of the first. The marks were barely noticeable, but he was extra sensitive after last night's documentary on cancer.

  Downstairs Elisha was in the airy kitchen placing steaming buttered toast on the pine table, but she immediately noticed his concern and stopped.

  "What's wrong, Alec?"

  "There are a couple of unusual marks on my neck. Would you take a look?" He sat down.

  "You think it's serious?" Elisha leaned over him, peering at his skin as if intensity of vision was enough to reveal any problem.

  "Do you see them? Tiny white marks."

  "No, uhh, maybe..." She brushed her finger against the back of his neck, a gesture she knew he loved. "Does that help?"

  Alec sighed. "You do pick your moments."

  She smiled, her fine eyebrows arching. "Danny's over at the Fredrics' for the morning. We have the place to ourselves."

  "Dammit, I'm serious about this." Alec took a long breath. "Do you see the marks or not? Two little white spots, slightly indented or flattened maybe."

  "No—don’t see them. Can you point to them?"

  Alec raised his finger and ran it over the general area; there was nothing there, just smooth skin and the gentle bristle of newly shaved skin. No, there! There was something; he could feel the indentation just slightly. He felt the other side of his neck and quickly found the matching spot.

  "There, do you see where I am touching?"

  Elisha looked closely, tilting her head this way and that to get a better view, pursing her lips in extreme concentration. "I really don't see anything that looks unusual."

  "You're just not looking properly." Alec tugged on the skin more. "There! It’s a different color. Don't you see?"

  "Oh Alec, it’s just a little difference. You're a scientist. You know that people's skin isn't uniform."

  "That doesn't explain why there's exactly the same spot in the same place on the opposite side."

  Elisha ruffled his hair. "You are such a silly thing sometimes. I’m sure it's not really identical." Her face grew serious. "Are you working too hard? I know things aren't easy at the lab."

  "We're trying to understand some of the most fundamental processes of nature; it's never going to be easy." Alec frowned; he knew he sounded bombastic at times despite trying not to. "But I'm not cracking up, if that's what you mean."

  "Perhaps you should speak with a Guide?"

  Elisha did her best to make the question as inconsequential as possible, but it rankled Alec. The suggestion was always there when he became passionate about something, no matter how rational his arguments were.

  Have you spoken to a Guide? Talk to the Guides, I'm sure they can help. As if his mental stability was so low it needed bolstering at every slight problem. There'd only been that one time: years ago now, but that was enough. The "low mental resilience" designation had been pinned firmly to him for life. He couldn't stop his anger spilling out. "Why do you bring that up? Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

  Elisha reached for Alec, but he pulled back. "No, of course not. It's just..."

  "Just what? That you think I'm useless? That I can't cope?"

  "Don't bite my head off." Elisha's voice was sharp, but then softened. "I'm just trying to look after you.

  "I'm okay. Don't worry about me."

  His tone was bitter and Alec regretted it immediately. He sighed. Elisha was trying to help and he knew that. He just wished she wasn't so intent on trying to cocoon him.

  ***

  "Are we sure about these figures?" Shumena Himmons played idly with the transparent Flimsy she held in front of her, not paying much attention to the words and numbers scrolling up the sheet.

  She'd been director of the lab for over fifteen years. In that time Alec had watched her transform from master cosmologist, at the head of her field, into a somewhat competent bureaucrat. Now she was buried under a mountain of picayune duties with no time to stay current on the latest developments.

  Alec hesitated. "You doubt my analysis?"

  "We're scientists, Alec. An analysis may be perfect—but the conclusions can sometimes be biased."

  "These aren't wild claims, Dr. Himmons." Alec straightened in his chair. "My work has been checked several times by different researchers. My theory has held up under the closest scrutiny."

  "So after decades of accepting Dark Energy and all its consequences, we should just throw it out because of a few pieces of rogue data? Let a slight imperfection destroy the work of the greatest minds of our time?"

  Alec always felt intimidated in Himmons' lavish office. Her desk was so wide and meticulously clean, unlike his own cluttered lab. He wasn't about to be muzzled though and stood up. "Sometimes a slight imperfection is all that's needed to disprove something. The effect of Dark Energy has been massively overstated. My research shows the actual value is less than ten percent of the generally accepted figure."

  "And as a result the Universe will eventually halt its expansion and collapse back on itself in the exact opposite of the Big Bang?"

  "Yes, completing this part of the cycle."

  Dr. Himmons peered up at him, her eyeglasses catching the light so that they looked like an impassable silver mirror.

  "This cycle?"

  "My reports are not..." Alec hesitated. "Not fully complete. I have data I haven’t released yet."

  "Scientists don't withhold information." The mirrored lenses flashed. "Especially from their-"

  "I appreciate it's unusual, but so are the circumstances. I've extended my analysis beyond the eventual collapse and can show that not only does it happen, but that it's a vital step in the rebirth of the Universe. The Universe is cyclical."

  "Cyclical? That's ancient nons-"

  "Cyclical. Infinite. And this is not the first cycle." Alec paused for Himmons to take in what he was saying. "I've measured trace echoes of at least three previous Universes overlaid on ours. Nothing dies forever."

  Alec felt as if he were floating above the chair. He'd finally been able to tell someone what he'd found. The release of his secret made him feel exhilarated and light-headed.

  "How could you... it's impossible..." Himmons hesitated briefly, then placed her glasses precisely centered on the desk before her. "Alec, I'm not usually one for encouraging informality—perhaps that’s a mistake. But I'm no
t a complete robot either. I spoke to Elisha earlier."

  "Elisha?" Alec swallowed hard.

  "She called and mentioned you were worried about some spots you'd found. I understand you were quite... agitated about it."

  "I thought there were some marks on my skin and I was worried they might be serious." Alec looked away briefly. "It was nothing, just 3V-inspired paranoia."

  "Elisha seemed quite worried."

  Alec didn't reply. Anything he could say right now would just make things sound worse, but inside he burned. How could Elisha go behind his back like this? She'd disrespected him and betrayed him to one of his colleagues—and the Director of all people.

  "I'd like you to see a Guide." Himmons held up a hand to forestall Alec's protest. "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with you and this has no bearing on the, uhh, theory you've presented."

  "But as your employer we have a duty to ensure your well-being, Alec. I'm sure if one of your junior researchers was in similar circumstances, you'd suggest the same."

  First Elisha, now Himmons. "Are you ordering me to?"

  "Of course not. This is a research institute, not a military establishment."

  ***

  "How was it Alec?"

  Elisha greeted him at the door with her usual smile, though Alec knew it was forced. A wall had built up between them. Her betrayal still left him unable to respond to her other than with cordial neutrality. It felt like their relationship had ended the moment he'd left Himmons' office.

  He shrugged. "The usual. The Guide's convinced my theories stem from the trauma of losing my parents and a psychotic need to prove they're not really dead. I’m apparently ‘fixated’ on the concept that the universe will be reborn and them with it."

  "Does he really call you psychotic?"