Welcome to Percotran -Part III

By Richard Davidson

Worker 2567A was worried. He’d always been happy at Percotran, and a model employee. He was such an advanced child that he’d already graduated from Educon, and took an entry level position at the age of five. As the new Data Processor in Area 3NW47B, of the Joan W. Lundberg Data Center, he had plenty of time set aside for play, and ongoing studies, as long as he kept up to production standards.

When he wasn’t toiling away in his polished steel cubicle, he was playing games, and was particularly adept at the ancient game of baseball, which Worker 2567A had heard originated in the times of the Romans.

There was a courtyard only a few miles from Worker 2567A’s quarters, and it was over 300 square miles of forest, grass, and rivers. There was an excellent baseball diamond; even though the entire area was simply part of Percotran, it felt like freedom to Worker 2567A, as he would pitch shut outs by the age of 7.

There had once been a great Roman Warrior by the name of Babe “The Lion Killer” Ruth, and after winning many battles for the Legion, he had become a hero at both warfare, and baseball, which was played in the Coliseum, according to the viewscreen in Worker 2567A’s cubicle.

He’d always believed the Company Manifest, and thought himself fortunate. Somehow, the appearance of the strange man he’d run into in hallway 2NN17-4AAA had changed all that. Worker 2567A didn’t know how, but it had.

These were the thoughts in his mind when a small indicator lit up on his panel, and a faint, muffled beep permeated the air. It was Commander Richter, who was in charge of this entire Quadrant. He was the Junior Commanding Vice President of Technological Design, and Worker 2567A had never developed even a tiny understanding of exactly what Richter’s job was.

What he did understand, however, was that being summoned by him wasn’t a good thing, and he began the arduous journey that involved 17 miles of hallway, 12 elevators, and three radiation detection stations. It would be hours until he got there, dreading the meeting the entire way.

So he was surprised when he saw the fluctuating square of light appear in front of him, as would any Worker. Electronic Transport was only to be used by executives, to prevent unnecessary strain on company resources. Failure to comply was grounds for termination, but Worker 2567A knew quite well the doorway was for him, and on the other side would be Commander Richter.

Most of Percotran was polished glass, marble, and a lightweight alloy known as Ventilum, but Commander Richter’s office was chiseled out of the side of a mountain, and had torches on the wall instead of fluorescent lights. There were no windows to speak of, only two small vertical slits like you’d find in a Medieval Castle, with shafts of artificial sunlight streaming through.

Commander Richter sat at a desk whose entire top consisted of a slice taken from a giant Teak tree, and loomed over the rest of the room from a height of seven feet. Worker 2567A sat on a small, three legged stool in front of that desk, and the light was shining in his face in such a manner that he really couldn’t see Richter at all.

To say he felt intimidated would be the unfortunate misuse of such a fine word, so let it only be said that Worker 2567A was shaking quite visibly, and very close to pissing himself.

“What does the Company Manifest say about unauthorized personnel?” asked Commander Richter, his voice booming down from above.

“All unauthorized personnel are to be detained, and reported to Upper Management,” Worker 2567A managed to get out. He had memorized all this by the age of 4, and been tested every six months ever since, after all.

“Then why did you fail to follow protocol, and allow an intruder to escape?” the Commander boomed even more ferociously.

“Sir, I already stated in my report that I wasn’t sure he was an intruder, until the brain scanner in the Resource Room detected it, and by then he’d already started running.”

“Yes, yes,” boomed the Commander, “I viewed your report. You allowed a moment of doubt to endanger the integrity of the company’s resources, and you failed to act. This is most unfortunate.”

Worker 2567A didn’t like the sound of that, and he vomited quite emphatically on the cold stone floor beneath him. A maintenance drone rushed out to clean it up, and offered him an antiseptic towel.

“My first thought was to demote you back to Data Loader, but your supervisor thinks you’re too valuable. So you will stay at your present position, and continue your normal workload.”

Commander Richter paused, and the torches flickered gently.

“In addition to your current workload, you will assist Records Handler 17D on a special project, and you will be denied Rectime and Downtime until it is completed.”

Worker 2567A was shattered. He’d worked on extra projects for years to gain the privilege of Downtime, which was the company’s word for sleep. Many workers didn’t get that particular luxury, instead enduring 5 minutes a day of Artificial Regeneration, which was both painful and unnerving.

He sensed there was something more to Commander Richter’s intentions, and wondered how much longer he would be alive.

“I find it quite interesting that the intruder said he worked for Percolex.”

The Commander leaned forward and Worker 2567A could see his craggy face.

“You and Records Handler 17D will report to the Vault, and begin the task of searching the Ancient Documents. We will find out if such a wild tale is true, or if this man is a Spy, or a Pirate.”

Worker 2567A didn’t think the man seemed like a Pirate. He was far too slightly built for that. Although he could’ve been a spy. But why would a spy have seemed so out of place, and called so much attention to himself? Worker 2567A found that a bit far-fetched, and he knew he had his work cut out for him.

When another Electronic Transfer Window opened before him, Worker 2567A walked through without question. He emerged in the Judith P. Waxler Records Center, or Reccent 2NWNN.

“Worker 2567A?” the 40’ish, balding man asked.

“You must be Records Handler 17D,” he answered.

“Just call me 17,” Records Handler 17D responded, and offered his hand. “All my friends do.”

Worker 2567A doubted very much he could be friends with a Records Handler, but he knew the importance of the project, and took 17’s hand with a smile.

“Now what are we going to call you?” 17 asked.

Worker 2567A was taken aback by this. He’d been referred to as Worker 2567A his entire life. Or so he’d thought. Suddenly, a strange feeling came over him, as a distance memory was trying to surface.

“I mean,” smiled 17, “Worker 2567A’s just a bit cumbersome, don’t you think?”

Worker 2567A was lost in the moment, and for the first time he could remember, just plain didn’t know what to say, and nodded stupidly.

“How about 25?” asked 17.

“I don’t think so,” Worker 2567A said, his voice trailing off a bit.

“Well,” said 17, “we’ll think of something. We’ve got alot of work to do. No one’s maintained this database for years, and there are quite a few glitches. To make matters worse, all data from before the 23rd century is stored in binary format.”

17 made a face of disgust as he said the words. Surely no one expected them to make detailed searches through such a primitive medium.

Worker 2567A said softly, “Ted.”

“What?”

“Ted. My name is Ted.”

“Ted?” 17 looked aghast. “What the hell kind of name is that?”

“It’s short for Theodore.”

That really didn’t help any. 17 had never heard of names like that before.

“What does it mean?” he asked, sitting down for a moment.

“I really don’t think it means anything,” Worker 2567A answered quietly, and then growing more assertive added, “it’s just my name.”

“Well, Theodore, ah, Ted, that’s fine. That’s real fine.”

17 scratched his chin a little absent-mindedly. “I like that name.”

“Shall we get started?”

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