Small Spaces
folder
Original - Misc › Science Fiction
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
3,268
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › Science Fiction
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
3,268
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.
Congratulations
Disclaimer: This is purely the work of Enthusiasto. No touchy.
A/N: How interesting, revisiting this piece after nearly a year. Reading it again, I remembered just how much love I had for Jacob/Nora! Maybe I can continue this, as NaNoWriMo is just around the corner.
Plot Outline: Fertility, and therefore families, have disintegrated to the point that children are being produced in laboratory settings more frequently then they are the natural way. The Program hopes to remedy this by handpicking individuals based on their reproductive capabilities. This automatic assigning of pairs can lead to problems, especially if the couple lacks a certain chemistry. But The Program has a way of influencing even the strongest of wills...
They went in, one at a time, perspiration beading on their pale foreheads, hair sticking, slick with the residue of nervousness. Each tie was flawlessly straight, those with recycled jackets -whose sleeves were too long- perfectly pinned, crisply ironed, frayed edges trimmed. Professional.
As each uncomfortable metal chair emptied, he would glance at the swiftly-changing red numbers on the counter. 154. Back down at his old black shoes, the treads worn from years of walking on steel grates. 147. Gently tug at his collar, which had a habit of folding up on one side. 130. Two numbers to go. The small waiting room, reserved for males only, was dense with the smell of sweat and old coffee. Not even the moving graphics of old farms going about their business could keep his attention for too long.
Normally, at this time, on this particular day, workers from his station would be enjoying their allotted relaxation period. However, when that pink slip came in through the mail shuttle, all other plans he’d had for the day, and, perhaps, his life, were inconsequential.
“Hell of a way to spend Personal Time, huh?” The man next to him, who, before, he hadn’t realized was there, asked with anxious eyes.
“128,” the automated voice of what could have once been a woman reached his ears. He turned to the shifty-eyed man, equally as sweaty and unprepared as the others, and nodded, breathing deeply, before standing and making his way toward a white door that would assign to him the future.
***
“Nesmeth, Herman J.” It wasn’t a question, but an affirmation. “Would you prefer to be addressed as Herman or 128 for this consultation?”
He coughed, “I, well, I normally go by ‘Jacob.’” And when the Doctor didn’t register any semblance of understanding, he went on, “My middle name.”
“Very well, Jacob. Please have a seat there,” she directed him to a long sofa across from her large, steel desk. The room was drab grays and charcoal; he felt as if he’d just stepped into a thick patch of smog.
“Your tests came back with promising results,” at the words, Jacob’s stomach dropped at least two inches. “You’re highly eligible for The Program.”
There was silence; for a good three and a half minutes, neither spoke.
“You do realize what this means for you, Mr. Nesmeth?”
Jacob, his body still and rigid, inconspicuously blue eyes wide. Yes he knew. Oh how he knew. He wished the tone of her voice, that stupid grin on her face, would match the blank look in her eyes.
“We would like to welcome you into The Program as soon as possible. I have your literature here,” she held out the tiny, rectangular disk that contained everything he’d need to know; every detail about how his life was to be ran as soon as he left that slate-gray office. “Your partner has been determined according to your reproductive compatibility,” the plump doctor stood, crossed around her desk to stand before him to offer her hand. “Congratulations.”
“…Thank you.” He managed to choke out, before stumbling from her sight.
***
Those on the sub-floor looked up; the usual steady clink of Jacob 128’s worn heels on the grates had been replaced with hurried, faltering footfalls, their clanging disturbing the commuters below. Sweeping a hand through his damp brown hair, he reached into the pocket of his coat for the passkey to his room.
This room, the same one he had known since he was eighteen years old, wouldn’t be his much longer. Not now that he had been integrated into The Program. His thumb circled the smooth, cold disk the doctor had given to him only twenty minutes before.
It wasn’t such a remarkable space; small, only large enough for his bed, a desk, the cleansing station tucked neatly into one corner. His rank didn’t afford him any place to prepare his own food, but it didn’t matter to Jacob; he wasn’t much of a cook.The mail chute was, thankfully, empty. Managing to step the few feet to his desk, he swiped the disk, and his monitor popped up. A friendly voice greeted him.
“Hello and congratulations for your induction into this most prestigious position.”
Jacob huffed, tugging his too-small coat off and tossing it haphazardly into one of the many small cubbies that lined his walls. Grabbing a glass from another cubby hole, he pressed the button for a ration of drinking water, filling the small container only halfway.
“As you were made aware before taking this test, the results would have great impact on your rank, as well as your personal life. However, we here at The Program have full confidence that you will find satisfaction in knowing that your small sacrifices will help your fellow human beings in the long run.”
Taking the time to study the screen from which the voice emanated, he was met with the image of an older gentleman, perhaps his mid-fifties, with a head of prematurely white hair. The smile in the man’s voice, however, was not matched in his eyes. Transfixed, Jacob sat down in front of the desk, emptying his glass in one gulp.
“We offer some exclusive benefits to members. Priority housing. Health care. The chance for advancement that other members of your station aren’t privy to.”
Advancement? He’d been stuck at the same job for fourteen years. What could he possibly have to look forward to? Skeptical glances and sympathy, that’s what.
“Take a look at this diagram: members of The Program reported a 25% increase in overall happiness and well-being since being inducted.”
Jacob studied the tri-colored pie chart. Twenty five percent reported happiness, that much was true. Twenty percent reported “slight dissatisfaction,” and fifty percent reported “no change.” Somehow that last figure didn’t seem correct...or possible.
“As for your assigned partner, your interaction need only be in fulfilling the requirements that The Program has set out for the both of you. Once the requirements have been met, your participation in The Program from that point on is optional. On this disk you will find details involving-”
He reached forward and pressed a button; the screen went blank, leaving behind the outline of blurred white hair on black.
***
Thatch was the last person he wanted to look at that morning. But there he was, big shiny head leaning over two desks to ask prodding questions that Jacob had no desire to answer.
“You got your pink slip yesterday? Congratulations! Didn’t think you had it in you, if you know what I mean.”
It was the third or fourth time he’d heard that word. Congratulations. And each time it was spoken he felt himself grow more and more queasy.
“Lois 33 and Frank 176 were talking about it, they think you’re getting a promotion,” he grinned, flashing a row of long, yellowing teeth, “Oops, didn’t mean to ruin the surprise, Jake 128.”
Thatch used the numbers just to annoy him. They weren’t necessary; of course he could distinguish the Lois of his station from the others in the vicinity. Repeatedly, he had informed the nosy, bald-headed gossip that he appreciated silence while working.
Maybe it was his crankiness and preference of being alone that spurred their curiosity, their friendly waterless cookies that they’d baked in their tiny, rank-approved ovens.
“Thatch, please. I’ve told you. I just want to work on this…”
His fingers returned to the keyboard, feverishly spewing out lines of code as if each number would block out the words of his repugnant coworker.
Then came the announcement, clear as crystal through the company intercom speakers that hung directly above everyone’s desks, filling him with a dread nearly comparable to that he had experienced at the doctor’s office the day before.
“Congratulations to Jacob 128, our section’s pick to be integrated into The Program for this coming fall term. With this induction, he will also receive a rank promotion, effective this afternoon at three o’clock. Good luck, Jacob, on your move up to Level C!”
A brief smattering of applause could be heard, before keyboards began their frantic clicking once more.
“It’s true, then, eh Jake 128?” Those damned numbers, “At least one of us will be getting some regular sex. My wife’s been administering the silent treatment for about two weeks now, and that includes no hanky panky.” The bald-headed ingrate leaned back into his area, his fingers, thankfully, returning to their work.
Jacob gritted his teeth; a cold, drenching sweat had broken out over his whole body, leaving him shivering, his fingers twitching over his keyboard. For fuck’s sake, what had he gotten himself into?
A/N: How interesting, revisiting this piece after nearly a year. Reading it again, I remembered just how much love I had for Jacob/Nora! Maybe I can continue this, as NaNoWriMo is just around the corner.
Plot Outline: Fertility, and therefore families, have disintegrated to the point that children are being produced in laboratory settings more frequently then they are the natural way. The Program hopes to remedy this by handpicking individuals based on their reproductive capabilities. This automatic assigning of pairs can lead to problems, especially if the couple lacks a certain chemistry. But The Program has a way of influencing even the strongest of wills...
They went in, one at a time, perspiration beading on their pale foreheads, hair sticking, slick with the residue of nervousness. Each tie was flawlessly straight, those with recycled jackets -whose sleeves were too long- perfectly pinned, crisply ironed, frayed edges trimmed. Professional.
As each uncomfortable metal chair emptied, he would glance at the swiftly-changing red numbers on the counter. 154. Back down at his old black shoes, the treads worn from years of walking on steel grates. 147. Gently tug at his collar, which had a habit of folding up on one side. 130. Two numbers to go. The small waiting room, reserved for males only, was dense with the smell of sweat and old coffee. Not even the moving graphics of old farms going about their business could keep his attention for too long.
Normally, at this time, on this particular day, workers from his station would be enjoying their allotted relaxation period. However, when that pink slip came in through the mail shuttle, all other plans he’d had for the day, and, perhaps, his life, were inconsequential.
“Hell of a way to spend Personal Time, huh?” The man next to him, who, before, he hadn’t realized was there, asked with anxious eyes.
“128,” the automated voice of what could have once been a woman reached his ears. He turned to the shifty-eyed man, equally as sweaty and unprepared as the others, and nodded, breathing deeply, before standing and making his way toward a white door that would assign to him the future.
“Nesmeth, Herman J.” It wasn’t a question, but an affirmation. “Would you prefer to be addressed as Herman or 128 for this consultation?”
He coughed, “I, well, I normally go by ‘Jacob.’” And when the Doctor didn’t register any semblance of understanding, he went on, “My middle name.”
“Very well, Jacob. Please have a seat there,” she directed him to a long sofa across from her large, steel desk. The room was drab grays and charcoal; he felt as if he’d just stepped into a thick patch of smog.
“Your tests came back with promising results,” at the words, Jacob’s stomach dropped at least two inches. “You’re highly eligible for The Program.”
There was silence; for a good three and a half minutes, neither spoke.
“You do realize what this means for you, Mr. Nesmeth?”
Jacob, his body still and rigid, inconspicuously blue eyes wide. Yes he knew. Oh how he knew. He wished the tone of her voice, that stupid grin on her face, would match the blank look in her eyes.
“We would like to welcome you into The Program as soon as possible. I have your literature here,” she held out the tiny, rectangular disk that contained everything he’d need to know; every detail about how his life was to be ran as soon as he left that slate-gray office. “Your partner has been determined according to your reproductive compatibility,” the plump doctor stood, crossed around her desk to stand before him to offer her hand. “Congratulations.”
“…Thank you.” He managed to choke out, before stumbling from her sight.
Those on the sub-floor looked up; the usual steady clink of Jacob 128’s worn heels on the grates had been replaced with hurried, faltering footfalls, their clanging disturbing the commuters below. Sweeping a hand through his damp brown hair, he reached into the pocket of his coat for the passkey to his room.
This room, the same one he had known since he was eighteen years old, wouldn’t be his much longer. Not now that he had been integrated into The Program. His thumb circled the smooth, cold disk the doctor had given to him only twenty minutes before.
It wasn’t such a remarkable space; small, only large enough for his bed, a desk, the cleansing station tucked neatly into one corner. His rank didn’t afford him any place to prepare his own food, but it didn’t matter to Jacob; he wasn’t much of a cook.The mail chute was, thankfully, empty. Managing to step the few feet to his desk, he swiped the disk, and his monitor popped up. A friendly voice greeted him.
“Hello and congratulations for your induction into this most prestigious position.”
Jacob huffed, tugging his too-small coat off and tossing it haphazardly into one of the many small cubbies that lined his walls. Grabbing a glass from another cubby hole, he pressed the button for a ration of drinking water, filling the small container only halfway.
“As you were made aware before taking this test, the results would have great impact on your rank, as well as your personal life. However, we here at The Program have full confidence that you will find satisfaction in knowing that your small sacrifices will help your fellow human beings in the long run.”
Taking the time to study the screen from which the voice emanated, he was met with the image of an older gentleman, perhaps his mid-fifties, with a head of prematurely white hair. The smile in the man’s voice, however, was not matched in his eyes. Transfixed, Jacob sat down in front of the desk, emptying his glass in one gulp.
“We offer some exclusive benefits to members. Priority housing. Health care. The chance for advancement that other members of your station aren’t privy to.”
Advancement? He’d been stuck at the same job for fourteen years. What could he possibly have to look forward to? Skeptical glances and sympathy, that’s what.
“Take a look at this diagram: members of The Program reported a 25% increase in overall happiness and well-being since being inducted.”
Jacob studied the tri-colored pie chart. Twenty five percent reported happiness, that much was true. Twenty percent reported “slight dissatisfaction,” and fifty percent reported “no change.” Somehow that last figure didn’t seem correct...or possible.
“As for your assigned partner, your interaction need only be in fulfilling the requirements that The Program has set out for the both of you. Once the requirements have been met, your participation in The Program from that point on is optional. On this disk you will find details involving-”
He reached forward and pressed a button; the screen went blank, leaving behind the outline of blurred white hair on black.
Thatch was the last person he wanted to look at that morning. But there he was, big shiny head leaning over two desks to ask prodding questions that Jacob had no desire to answer.
“You got your pink slip yesterday? Congratulations! Didn’t think you had it in you, if you know what I mean.”
It was the third or fourth time he’d heard that word. Congratulations. And each time it was spoken he felt himself grow more and more queasy.
“Lois 33 and Frank 176 were talking about it, they think you’re getting a promotion,” he grinned, flashing a row of long, yellowing teeth, “Oops, didn’t mean to ruin the surprise, Jake 128.”
Thatch used the numbers just to annoy him. They weren’t necessary; of course he could distinguish the Lois of his station from the others in the vicinity. Repeatedly, he had informed the nosy, bald-headed gossip that he appreciated silence while working.
Maybe it was his crankiness and preference of being alone that spurred their curiosity, their friendly waterless cookies that they’d baked in their tiny, rank-approved ovens.
“Thatch, please. I’ve told you. I just want to work on this…”
His fingers returned to the keyboard, feverishly spewing out lines of code as if each number would block out the words of his repugnant coworker.
Then came the announcement, clear as crystal through the company intercom speakers that hung directly above everyone’s desks, filling him with a dread nearly comparable to that he had experienced at the doctor’s office the day before.
“Congratulations to Jacob 128, our section’s pick to be integrated into The Program for this coming fall term. With this induction, he will also receive a rank promotion, effective this afternoon at three o’clock. Good luck, Jacob, on your move up to Level C!”
A brief smattering of applause could be heard, before keyboards began their frantic clicking once more.
“It’s true, then, eh Jake 128?” Those damned numbers, “At least one of us will be getting some regular sex. My wife’s been administering the silent treatment for about two weeks now, and that includes no hanky panky.” The bald-headed ingrate leaned back into his area, his fingers, thankfully, returning to their work.
Jacob gritted his teeth; a cold, drenching sweat had broken out over his whole body, leaving him shivering, his fingers twitching over his keyboard. For fuck’s sake, what had he gotten himself into?