Small Spaces
folder
Original - Misc › Science Fiction
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
3,269
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › Science Fiction
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
3,269
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Changes
A/N: I'm steadily cranking some things out. Sorry that there is no smut...yet. Would love some feedback, and I will gladly return the favor.
The moment three o’clock rolled around, Jacob was up, out of his chair – coat in hand – and rushing past Thatch’s desk before the dolt had a chance to make any snide remarks. He was the first to the elevator, and closed the door before any of his fellow co-workers could crowd in with him.
Within seconds, he was stepping into a whole new universe. Where Level D had been dark steel desks, dimly glowing monitors, and obediently bent heads, Level C was all sheen. Lineless black tile flooring, clean white walls. And dividers between each desk. That was a novel concept; privacy. No Thatch leaning over Bill and Sandra to speak to him. No cookies shoved over several desks to pass right into the trash under his desk, untouched. Perhaps, if luck was on his side for once, there would be no more numbers either.
“128!”
Dammit.
“Jacob 128, welcome. Your seat is here.”
He vaguely recognized the voice; warm, yet authoritarian. Jacob’s eyes met those of the man on The Program’s introduction disk. Blazing white hair, even starker than it had appeared on his home monitor. For a moment, Jacob regretted not exploring all the facets of the disk. There were some things he was completely oblivious of…including where he was to be relocated.
The man gestured to a seat near the back of the empty room. All of the employees in the building had staggered work schedules, so as to alleviate crowded corridors. Level D had been a nine to five. Not normally a morning person, Jacob wasn’t looking forward to a seven o’clock to three day.
He examined his space: it was still relatively small, but it was contained, conducive to actually getting work done. Generating code required concentration, something that he hadn’t ever really had submersed in clicking keyboards and chatty coworkers. That was all he really wanted; something to show for fourteen years worth of the same thing, day in, day out. Incentive enough to turn his body over to them? Just maybe.
“I am Dr. Farwell. I will be your Program Supervisor. You have obviously already met with your specialist, Dr. Wren.” Jacob nodded; he remembered the cloudy office, her cold eyes. “We’re very pleased to have you on board, here, Jacob. Very pleased.”
Something glittered in the man’s eyes, like when a child picks apart a butterfly, just to see what’s inside…
“We have had your things moved into The Den already. Here,” Dr. Farwell handed him a new passkey, swiftly plucking the old one from the chain around Jacob’s neck. “Some new Level D worker will be thankful to have your old apartment. And I am sure you will find your new living quarters to be satisfactory.”
Jacob coughed, as he always did when nervousness left him with nothing suitable to say.
“As I said. Welcome,” they shook hands. “We look forward to monitoring your progress.”
And the old man’s eyes glittered once more before he turned away.
***
The Den. Sounded like a cozy place. It was located on the opposite wing of the compound from the apartment Jacob had called home for half of his life. From the work station it would have been a rather long walk, were it not for the conveyors built conveniently into the flooring on Level C. As soon as he stepped onto a conveyor, he was instantly being transported in the direction of The Den at least twice the pace his steps could have ever taken him. If it weren’t for the inherent sense of dread creeping about in the pit of his stomach, Jacob would have been quite pleased with himself. Yes, he was moving up in the world. So what were these unsettling feelings that caused sweat to drip down his spine?
The conveyor speeded toward a flat-fronted entranceway guarded by a passkey station, and surrounded by a slippery stainless steel wall. It had been mentioned in passing, before Jacob had applied to become a potential candidate for The Program, that those who were already members formed their own little community. He hadn't taken those words so literally, until that very moment.
The entrance panel slid open at the command of his new passkey, and the moving platform instantly became stationary just inside. Directly ahead of him was a large glass atrium, the ceiling of which revealed a nearly permanent shade of gray. Everyone he knew hated going outside, and for good reason; the chill penetrated too deeply.
Connected to this atrium on the right was a communal eatery where pairs sat in small booths, some speaking animatedly, others focused entirely on their meal. Directly through was a corridor that led to the housing wings, and branching off to the left of the atrium was a sign indicating a library and assorted shops.
As Jacob stepped into the blindingly-bright lights of this shiny new world, he followed the most direct path toward his new place, dodging couples, both hand-holders and otherwise. Had he merely looked down he would have seen that the beautiful black, white, and gray tiling was intricately shaped in the visage of a mother cradling her newborn. For, as attentive as Jacob 128 was, he hadn't noticed.
The moment three o’clock rolled around, Jacob was up, out of his chair – coat in hand – and rushing past Thatch’s desk before the dolt had a chance to make any snide remarks. He was the first to the elevator, and closed the door before any of his fellow co-workers could crowd in with him.
Within seconds, he was stepping into a whole new universe. Where Level D had been dark steel desks, dimly glowing monitors, and obediently bent heads, Level C was all sheen. Lineless black tile flooring, clean white walls. And dividers between each desk. That was a novel concept; privacy. No Thatch leaning over Bill and Sandra to speak to him. No cookies shoved over several desks to pass right into the trash under his desk, untouched. Perhaps, if luck was on his side for once, there would be no more numbers either.
“128!”
Dammit.
“Jacob 128, welcome. Your seat is here.”
He vaguely recognized the voice; warm, yet authoritarian. Jacob’s eyes met those of the man on The Program’s introduction disk. Blazing white hair, even starker than it had appeared on his home monitor. For a moment, Jacob regretted not exploring all the facets of the disk. There were some things he was completely oblivious of…including where he was to be relocated.
The man gestured to a seat near the back of the empty room. All of the employees in the building had staggered work schedules, so as to alleviate crowded corridors. Level D had been a nine to five. Not normally a morning person, Jacob wasn’t looking forward to a seven o’clock to three day.
He examined his space: it was still relatively small, but it was contained, conducive to actually getting work done. Generating code required concentration, something that he hadn’t ever really had submersed in clicking keyboards and chatty coworkers. That was all he really wanted; something to show for fourteen years worth of the same thing, day in, day out. Incentive enough to turn his body over to them? Just maybe.
“I am Dr. Farwell. I will be your Program Supervisor. You have obviously already met with your specialist, Dr. Wren.” Jacob nodded; he remembered the cloudy office, her cold eyes. “We’re very pleased to have you on board, here, Jacob. Very pleased.”
Something glittered in the man’s eyes, like when a child picks apart a butterfly, just to see what’s inside…
“We have had your things moved into The Den already. Here,” Dr. Farwell handed him a new passkey, swiftly plucking the old one from the chain around Jacob’s neck. “Some new Level D worker will be thankful to have your old apartment. And I am sure you will find your new living quarters to be satisfactory.”
Jacob coughed, as he always did when nervousness left him with nothing suitable to say.
“As I said. Welcome,” they shook hands. “We look forward to monitoring your progress.”
And the old man’s eyes glittered once more before he turned away.
The Den. Sounded like a cozy place. It was located on the opposite wing of the compound from the apartment Jacob had called home for half of his life. From the work station it would have been a rather long walk, were it not for the conveyors built conveniently into the flooring on Level C. As soon as he stepped onto a conveyor, he was instantly being transported in the direction of The Den at least twice the pace his steps could have ever taken him. If it weren’t for the inherent sense of dread creeping about in the pit of his stomach, Jacob would have been quite pleased with himself. Yes, he was moving up in the world. So what were these unsettling feelings that caused sweat to drip down his spine?
The conveyor speeded toward a flat-fronted entranceway guarded by a passkey station, and surrounded by a slippery stainless steel wall. It had been mentioned in passing, before Jacob had applied to become a potential candidate for The Program, that those who were already members formed their own little community. He hadn't taken those words so literally, until that very moment.
The entrance panel slid open at the command of his new passkey, and the moving platform instantly became stationary just inside. Directly ahead of him was a large glass atrium, the ceiling of which revealed a nearly permanent shade of gray. Everyone he knew hated going outside, and for good reason; the chill penetrated too deeply.
Connected to this atrium on the right was a communal eatery where pairs sat in small booths, some speaking animatedly, others focused entirely on their meal. Directly through was a corridor that led to the housing wings, and branching off to the left of the atrium was a sign indicating a library and assorted shops.
As Jacob stepped into the blindingly-bright lights of this shiny new world, he followed the most direct path toward his new place, dodging couples, both hand-holders and otherwise. Had he merely looked down he would have seen that the beautiful black, white, and gray tiling was intricately shaped in the visage of a mother cradling her newborn. For, as attentive as Jacob 128 was, he hadn't noticed.