About The Laws of Space

Post 234:

The Laws of Space

Episode 36

Chapter 19:

Chapter 19: No Greater Love…

            It was the second day back at work for Lerner Merchant, L1. He and his mates had returned from an ordeal, disoriented to say the least. Just keep your mind on your shovel, Webb told him the night before. It seemed a simple request, but with everything going on, nothing was that simple.

            Merchant did not have a complicated job. Everyday the same thing: sent out along with thousands of other Regulars to work the terraced hills on the eastern slope of City Five. The hills were rich with a black, sooty substance called coal, important for some reason or another. Lerner inquired what the substance was a time or two, but not understanding, he gave up. He did what he did and it paid what it paid. Lerner was by all accounts an able and adept shovel man; though small and wiry, his hands were calloused and strong, able to take the abuse offered up day after day. Most times he could get lost in the rhythm of the toil for hours, grinding metal into earth, dumping whatever came out into retrieval Mechs stationed around him and the other workers. Not today.

            Today his hands were trembling and his work was slow. Keep your mind on your shovel. He forgot himself and looked up, scanning the faces of the ragged people he worked with. They appeared as he felt; nervous and agitated, distracted at a time when distraction was absolutely out of the question. Damn the Culling.

            The news had been delivered on the community Worldview the night before. Sky Eyes and Mechs were being deployed at every major work site in the Five Cities. Apparently there was some sort of breakdown in something the Administrator called the AOL (Average Output Level) of the Regulars of the Five Cities. There were too many people not carrying their weight, playing the System, earning more credits than they deserved, using more resources than the Five Cities could support. Alder tried to explain the terms unsustainable population and relative productivity values after Clement Pope had used them as reasons for the Culling, but it didn’t make anymore sense to Lerner then or now.

            Then it happened. An older woman of about fifty lost her grip on her shovel and fell ten feet down the slope. Scarred and burning from the minerals seeping into her wounds, she sat there, moaning in pain and bemoaning the insane pressure that she and those around her were facing. Lerner heard the cries of the woman, about forty yards to his right. He yelled at her to get up and get back to work, but it was too late. The Mechs had identified her as underproductive and read her chip: biometrics, muscle tone, nutrition, longevity projections, dopamine, blood sugar, etc. Apparently whatever metric needed passing was not met; a Sky Eye exploded her off of the hill in the midst of her wailing. She was the first to be culled that day, but those around her knew she would not be the last. Merchant tried not to look, but the circle of burning flesh and coal where the woman once sat was paralyzing to the eyes. Mind your shovel, Lerner.

            Lerner redoubled his efforts to focus, framing his body to dig into a carved out embankment. Dig. Load. Dig. Load. He fought to find the old rhythm, but fighting was not the way to find it. His fellow workers were undergoing the same psychological torment; the metrics for being worthy were so vague, and apparently the Culling could last for up to one work week, according to the Laws. This much was explained by the Administrator, but not much else. He simply mandated that the Regulars be worthy. As the day rolled on, worthy felt like a distant planet or a fairy tale.