Position

Posted on by gmfx

Ben’s leg bounced nervously as he waited for the bad news. He knew he didn’t belong here, and now they surely knew it too.

Finally the facilitator entered with her artificial smile. But she sat across from him and said, “Congratulations, Mr. Holban! You’ve tested in the highest aptitude.”

“I did?” Ben gaped, all his anxiety evaporating. “Really?”

“Yes!” the facilitator replied, her smile suddenly seeming much more genuine. “And in order to make sure your intellect is utilized to the fullest potential, we are offering you a position with our organization.”

“A position,” Ben repeated, so giddy he might hyperventilate. “What—how . . . What kind of position?”

“Our most generous contact,” she said magnanimously. “All your needs will be met, so long as you are able to continue making contributions.”

“When can I start?” Ben asked, still grinning.

The facilitator smiled back. “Immediately.”

And it was true. There was a flurry of paperwork; then they took him to medical for a couple injections. And then it was too late. Ben’s world went hazy. There were tubes and wires and a tank. The corporation provided everything he needed to live. The only thing he had to give them was his life.

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Promotion

Posted on by gmfx

“Sorry you didn’t get the promotion,” Lara said. She and Ronni were the only two in the breakroom, but she had still approached both Ronni and the conversation topic furtively.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Ronni answered.

Lara shook her head. “Bastards.”

“It’s fine, really,” Ronni insisted. “I don’t even care.” It was a lie that Lara could see through easily, even though they weren’t that close. But then, Lara wasn’t the one Ronnie was trying to convince. Perhaps it was the very fact that Lara had spotted the attempted self-deception and didn’t call her on it that allowed Ronni to finally admit the truth. “I shouldn’t care, right?”

“You . . . shouldn’t?”

“I hate this job!” she declared. Lara’s eyes widened, which somehow encouraged Ronni. “I hate the people I work for. I hate the way this company treats its customers. Why do I even care what any of those . . . those . . . those bastards think?”

“Yeah, screw ‘em!” Lara suggested.

“Screw ‘em!” Ronni echoed. “Wait—no.”

“No?”

Ronni sighed. “No . . .”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . I do care, dammit.” She looked around, took in the dingy, depressing breakroom and considered her place in it. “I guess . . . I guess I just wanted it all to mean something.”

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Heart

Posted on by gmfx

The day they turned on the Machine, the company made three million dollars. In the first month, the value of their shares increased twenty-fold. Meanwhile, the country was in turmoil from civil unrest, looming war, and rapidly rising unemployment.

Then someone mentioned the Machine to the media. Connections were made, conclusions drawn, outcry raised. They turned off the Machine.

But the project was too profitable to abandon. The company hired an army of programmers to somehow teach the Machine empathy. Even more money was spent on marketing. “The Heart,” they called it now. Once connected to the fine network of veins that composed the internet, it would pump information in and out, making decisions in a way that caused no harm.

Finally, they plugged it in.

Analysts watched their screens. Traders watched their phones. No transactions were made. Not in the first five minutes. Not in the first hour. Meanwhile, a custodian at the largest server farm in the country watched the reading on the thermometer rise. By the time the technicians there got in touch with management, servers were already failing from overheating. Every processor was working at 100% capacity. Thousands of spinning discs, making a sound like screaming.

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox
Photo by Lars Kienle on Unsplash