The Invisible Hand

An incurable genetic malady has created a dystopian future. In the face of such bleak sadness, how is an ambitious executive expected to make his quarterly bonus?

Bill Nickels took a hurried sip of water and checked his suit in the mirror.  He fussed over nothing, anxious to be finished waiting.  He breathed in deep and let it out slowly.  His hand twitched and the large screen went from population percentages and CDC data to displaying the graph.  Red bars stretched across the screen, next to each bar was a name, at the top of the graph two bars blinking in bright drastic red.  He found himself staring at second place.  This morning and most of the day he was first.  Not with a sizable lead but a significant one.  Wethers must have closed a full compensation, it would have made two in as many days.

            Outside the city was dark, the only sign of life the little orange dots from wood burning fires.  Inside his office blazed with electric neon glory.  The air circulated at a comfortable seventy-one degrees.  Clean water sat in his glass.  Outside there was nothing but the cold wind blowing across haggard dirt crusted hands cowering over a rusted out oil drum burning tar covered wood.  He stared out to the black outline of the city, only visible in the moonlight.  He let out another slow breath.  He took another sip from his glass, this time slow and careful.

            His next appointment was late. The time ticked by exaggerated by the constant checking of his watch.  The desolation below his office held numerous distractions, bars, w****s, chemicals, sleep, family, work.  Potentials  were notoriously unreliable.  A contractor had to overbook appointments, then scramble to oblige them all.  The hardest part was to keep your cool, deny the stress, disregard the pressure.  Potentials were ignorant, uneducated, worked to the point of death to achieve nothing, yet they had the shrewdness of one who has had to live their lives in poverty. It was possible to make a living underestimating them, but not one that lasted long.

            He glanced over the potential’s file, checked his religion, then changed his cufflinks.  A soft tone sounded, he twitched his hand.

            “Sir, your seven o’clock has arrived.” A voice said.

            “Send him in.”

            He tugged at the bottom of his sport coat, then walked around the desk.  He opened a cupboard above a small sink and removed one of many glasses based by a thin ring of gold.  He placed it next to the sink then filled his glass back to halfway.  He returned to the front of his desk and placed his glass next to him in plain sight.

            The door on the far side of the bleach white office opened and a man walked in holding a frumpled hat.  He stood in the doorway, shoulders hunched yet back erect.  His greasy hair hung in flat clumps like crow feathers.  His clothing was stained and worn with subtle rectangular streaks where loose dirt had been dry scrubbed off.  Though the flesh that surrounded them was puffed with fatigue, the man’s eyes had the glint of polished steel.

            “Mr. Smith.” He said, “I’m glad you could stop by, fitting you in for a future appointment would be difficult.”

            Smith stood in the doorway, his eyes darting around the room, taking in the marvel of electric light.  To Nickels, his motions almost gave him the look of an animal trying to sniff out a trap.  Smith’s eyes slowly continued to drift around the office, until they latched onto the glass of water sitting on Nickels’ desk.

            “Please have a seat Mr. Smith.”

            He walked across the room with sheepish steps betraying his muscular form swaddled in his patchwork clothing.  His eyes still roamed, but mostly between Nickels and the glass of water on the desk.  Nickels gestured him to the stuffed leather chair, Smith regarded the choice with mild surprise, a cold steel chair frame was positioned next to it.

            Nickels waited for him to sit, and counted five beats before speaking.  Smith’s eyes danced over the glass.  “Would you like a drink of water Mr. Smith?”

            The man’s eyes flashed to his. “Yes.  Please.”

            Nickels flashed him a smile, placed his hands in his pockets and paced his walk over to the sink.  He turned on the sink and let the water flow for a minute to test it, not turning to Smith, but knowing the effect his little piece of drama was having.  He lifted the gold based cup off the sink and filled it to the brim with water.  He walked it over to Smith who accepted it like a prayer with both hands.  He took a tentative sip, then guzzeled it down half way, took a breath then a full deep swallow.  Nickels watched, sipping himself.  Smith paused, noticing his greed, and resumed his previous straight backed posture.

            “No please, finish up, we have time.”

            Smith gave a faint smile, then raised the cup for a final gulp.

            “Thank you.” He said, and handed over the cup, noticing for the first time the ring of gold at the bottom.

            “Why don’t you keep that.” Nickels said, “Just don’t tell anybody.  Out little secret huh.”  He winked.

            Smith stared at glass, the gold ring, shining under the droplets of water dancing down the side, splattering his pant leg.  “Yeah sure.”  He rested his hands holding the glass in his lap.

            Nickels stood, walked around the desk and sat down.  He leaned back and crossed his legs and looked sympathetic.  “So,” Nickels said, “This can’t be an easy decision to make.”

            Smith showed nothing, stoic.

            “Did you have a hard time finding the office?”

            “No.  Cousin of mine came here.  Got caught in a drill press, tore him up pretty good.  I had to pull him down in a cart.”

            Nickels nodded slowly, “I’m sorry to hear that, but at least I know that he was well taken care of.”

            Smith’s jaw jutted out to the right.  His head cocked to the side, his feet twitched, eyes turned down.  “My Cousin’s wife moved away.  Said she got a good piece of money, new apartment, new job.  Something uh, something like, workin with pills?”

            “We have had great success filling immediate genetic relatives in prime employment.  Medication packaging is a large field, we have extensive networks.  And we are constantly working on improving our relationships in that industry.”

            Smith nodded.

            “Clean working environments.  No heavy machinery.”

            Smith’s eyes lighted up

            “Of course it’s all dependant on the level of compensation.”

            Smith sniffed, stared down, rolling the glass in his hand.

            Nickels let the room fill with silence, he stood still, passively calming the room.  Then, “Tell me, where are you employed?”

            “Robotics plant.”

            “Which one?”

            “OmniFission.  Plant 209 in New Freedom City.”

            Nickels folded his hands, relaxed his shoulders and smiled. “Very good, very good.  A fine company, one of the best.  If I’m not mistaken you folks over there won the Weichang award for quality three years in a row.”

            Smith’s body stiffed in mild surprise.  His eyes flicked away from the glass and back to Nickels.  “Yeah sure, you work in a factory long enough you see it win somethin’.”

            “Mr. Smith, If you gain nothing else from me I hope it is the realization that no matter what the situation exceptional performance is always awarded.  The more a man gives of himself, his arm reached out, soft hands splayed open, “the more he can expect to gain,” slow steady arm retraction, his velvet fingers constricting.  “Each moment of a man’s life is an opportunity.  He can either make the most of it or let each moment make the most of him.”

            Smith nodded, “I suppose.”

            Nickels folded his hands, his voice came out soft and light “So Mr. Smith, tell me, what are we looking at?”

            Smith lolled his head towards the window, taking his time, stalling like a man bound to hear bad news.  Nickles turned his attention to the small green light above the door, above Smith’s head.  It began to blink then turned yellow.  Almost instantly a cold layer of damp swirled across Nickels’ skin.

            “Mr. Smith, We here at Barnard, Reitz & Mathe have never met a threat to our dependents that we haven’t been able to handle.  And by handle I mean identify, locate, and remove.”

            “Who says your takin on any goddamn dependents?”

            Nickels felt his eye twitch and stubbed his full body tremor down like a cigarette.  “Quite right, I was merely…”

            “Merely what?  Making assumptions out of turn.”

            “Yes, yes, yes, of course, yes.  I was simply trying to, to, to uh, assuage…”

            “Assuage?”

            “To put to rest, to, to, to remove some of the fears you might have concerning things on our end.”

            Smith stood.  “Listen to me you stuffed shirt, I take care of my own.  As long as I draw breath my family has nothing to worry about.”  he paced the room, his calloused hands lofting the glass.

            Nickels caught the urge to yell pooling up from the back of his throat.   He caught it and chewed it back down. “I don’t doubt you Mr. Smith, I don’t doubt you.  I really just want to help.  Is that not why you came here?  Because you need help?  Help only a qualified assistance firm can provide.  That is exactly what we are Mr. Smith.  Nothing less and nothing more.  We simply assist.  It is fully up to each individual applicant how much, or how little assistance we appropriate.”

            Smith stood glaring down through the window.  Nickels felt the tension in him growing, his stomach rolled and pitched with tidal waves.  The light above the door remained a looming yellow.  “Please sit Mr. Smith.  Please.”

            Smith turned and sat.  “It’s my girl.”  He said.  His head drooped, hung like overripe fruit.

            Nickels sighed.  He nodded.  “You have just the one.”

            “We tried and we tried, but it just won’t happen.  We can’t survive.”

            “You have only the single tax credit.”

            Smith’s eyes lit with fire, shooting into Nickels’  “Yeah.  Just the one.”         

            “Well, a man does what he must.”

            Smith’s gaze held. “Yeah.  You goddamn got that right.  I go to work every day and goddamn pollution and goddamn radiation destroys every cell in my body.  I stand at my job all day and screw bolts into plates, day after day after day, grinding down my soul.  What do I have to show for my sacrifice, but a miserable hovel where my wife has to stay locked inside because the local pimp eyes my girls.”

            “A man does what he must.”

            “And what do you do sir?”

            The yellow light, hard to see despite the sterile shimmering light of the office, growled like a incoming meteor.  Nickels pretended to scratch his forehead to catch a droplet of sweat.  “I, mediate, deals of mutual…”

            “Aw bullshit.”

            “…deals of mutual agreement and benefit…”

            “You sit here in your pretty little office and you wait for some sorry sack of tramp to come blowing in an offer up the last thing he’s got left.  The only thing worth a damn.”

            “…to all parties concerned…”

            “When’s the last time you saw a man eaten alive by the blight?  Hacking up wads of his insides, black green flecks of his skin flittering about like dead leaves.”

            “…towards a dignified end.”

            “It’s not contagious but it does tend to visit us low-lives a little more often doesn’t it.  And you blood sucking ghouls sit here in your ivory towers and wait to chop us up for parts.”

            “Mr. Smith.”

            “You make me sick.”

            “Listen to me Mr. Smith.”

            Smith pounds his chest raw emotion gurgling up through his throat.  Above his head the yellow light begins to blink.  “This is my life!  I want it!  It belongs to me!  You’ve taken so much and I want to just have a little for myself!  I want my life!  I want my family!  It is mine!”

            Nickels leans forward, fingertips gripping the synthetic materiel of the desk.  In a harsh whispered voice he croaks, “We’re being watched you idiot.”

            Smith’s eyes widened.

            Nickels leans back, runs his hand through his hair.  “Yes, Mr. Smith yes, of course you have your doubts.”

            Smith rubs his face and leans forward.

            “It’s only natural that you would feel this way, why who could blame you.”

            Smith sits back eyes aflame with panic, hand gripped firmly to his mouth.  The room is pulsing with tense anxiety.

            “Why don’t we have another drink of water Mr. Smith.”

            Smith nods.

            Nickels walks around the desk taking the gold bottomed glass and sweeping back around to the sink.  He fills two glasses and takes in a series of breaths with his eyes closed.  He turns around and walks back, placing the two filled glasses at his end of the desk.  Slowly he takes his seat, the yellow light still blinking above Smith’s head.  He left the glasses where they were and walked around the desk, sitting in front of Smith.

            “A man does what he must Mr. Smith.  I know that is why you are here.  Yes, you’re life is much harder than mine.  Yes, I am asking you to exorcise your option to sell your corporal remains to this allograft firm.  I can’t tell you that this is the fair option.  There is no fair option.  This is simply your best option. 

            “You love your family, I can tell, I often meet people who say it but don’t mean it.  It must be hard to wake up every morning and step into that factory and face the dangers of the street.  Every scrap of bread, every credit won by the creak of your back, given in grace to the people who depend upon you.  This is the cost of love, but to a man it is his only option.  Not that a man doesn’t have other choices, you’ve seen the taverns and the brothels, seen the wreckage a man can wreak on himself and those around him, those he claims are close to his heart.

            “Yes, you love your family, and you want to be there for them and see them along rightfully through life, but that’s a luxury men are not altogether built for.  A man is built to traverse and labor and most importantly, to defend.  In another sense a man is built to suffer, to bear a load that cannot be supported by his family.  To be near the children and nurture them, to grow them up from a seed and plant them in the world, sadly, is the privilege of woman.

            “So, when those sad eyes fill with the tears of hunger and cold, and yes and fear, a man does as he must.  He makes a hard decision for his family that his family cannot support or make for themselves.  Otherwise, how can he call himself a man?”

            Smith’s eyes were round and filled with tears giving them the look of reflecting pools.  “Yes.”

            “Let me help you Mr. Smith.  Let me help you make the best of it.”

            Fat round tears rushed down grizzled features, plinking off five o’clock shadow.  “Yes.”

            Nickels nodded, he turned and grasped the water glasses, pausing to flick his shirt sleeves out, so that his cufflinks would be visible from under his suit jacket.  He handed Smith his gold bottomed glass.  As he took it his eyes glanced at the cufflinks.

            “St.Jude,” Smith said, “Saint of lost causes.”

            Nickels played shock, “I didn’t know there were any of us left still practicing.”

            Smith smiled, his body relaxed.  He sipped the water, savored it.

            Nickels smiled, the yellow light blinking still.  He walked back around the desk and flicked his finger.  A bright colored screen of floating light rose from the desk and presented itself to Smith.

            “Please place your hand on the screen Mr. Smith.”

            Smith placed his palm flat against the kaleidoscope colored screen.  There was a faint beep.

            “Hold there please.” Nickels said.  “Do you Winston Smith, hereby transfer all rights to the corporeal remains of the aforementioned over to the managing interests of Barnard, Reitz & Mathe, for the direct purpose of placing the entirety of said corporeal remains to be sold to the highest bidder, in return for compensation package 9B?”

            “What’s that?”

            Nickels finger twitched, a holographic image of text scrolled above Smith’s hand.  The yellow light blinked faster and faster.  Nickels sat chewing the inside of his lip rolling a piece of lint between his fingers as Smith worked his way through the compensation plan.  He lifted his dirty finger and touched the flickering image above his hand.  A string of text highlighted.

            “This mean housing?” he said.

            “Yes.”

            “This 100,000 credits goes directly to them?”

            “Yes.  It’s a good deal.  Really.”

            Leaning forward, speaking loudly from the gut, despite the hidden energy wave sound recorders that could amplify the dust motes scrabbling across the microscopic landscape of his skin, “I accept.”

            The hologram winked out.  The screen beeped louder, then vanished.

            “You’ve made the smart move Mr. Smith.” Nickels said leaning over, hand extended.

            Smith accepted it with his outstretched hand, still hovering in the space left by the screen.  Two large men in white from head to toe were already on him.

            “This way Mr. Smith.” The one said, grasping him by the elbow, soft, but with intention.

            Smith regarded the men leading him from the room.  “I get to see my girls one last time right?”

            They spun him around, leading with quickened steps but not rushed.

            From over his shoulder Smith yelled.  “I get to see my girls again right Mr. Nickels?  I get to see them again right.  One last time right?”

            “You made the right decision Mr. Smith.” Nickels said, hand lifted in salutation.

            The two large men shuffled him through the door, a little red light above it.

            A doorway opened from the side wall and a tall, wide man in a suit walked through it.  “Nickels my boy,” a long crooked finger wagged towards the lights above to door, “You always manage to squeeze a last one in before the closing bell.”

            Nickels straightened his tie.  “Yes sir, Mr. Barnard.”

            “Good job son, a fine job, textbook.”  A grotesque smile warped multitudes of ragged scars across Barnard’s multi-toned face.  “This last one should put you ahead of Wethers, if I’m not mistaken.”

            “Yes sir.”

            “So another big fat bonus.  I tell you son, you’ll be running this place someday.”  A large wide hand slapped Nickels shoulder.

            Nickels could feel small bits of skin patter his neck.  “Thank you sir.”

            Barnard continued to smile, “You also have just the one tax credit right?” He walked over to the desk and lifted the cup based with a gold ring admiring it.

            Nickels flushed, “Yes sir.”

            “I’ll have the funds transferred immediately.  You must need them.  Just keep up the good work and you’ll be ahead of the curve in no time.”

            “Yes sir.  Thank you sir.”

            “This is the system Nickels, it isn’t perfect but it saved humanity.  Have to keep the birthrate up above the blight percentage rates.  It’s the same for everybody, no exceptions.”  He walked over to the sink and poured the water out into the sink.

            “Oh yes sir, of course.”

            “Need to keep the flow of materials moving until we can lick this thing.  You understand.”

            “Yes sir.  Someday soon of course.”

            Barnards face turned somber and he turned and looked out the window.  He scratched his face, dark green flecks cascaded down his cheek.  Nickels turned, pretending not to notice the fresh sutures.

            Barnard placed the gold based glass back into the cupboard, neatly in line with all the rest.  “I’ll be seeing you Nickels, keep up the good work.”  Barnard turned and left.

 

 

            As his private air tram zipped across the dark night sky, Nickels sipped a glass of amber scotch and allowed himself to relax.  The vehicle landed and he stepped out to the patio of his multi floor penthouse.  He took another sip from his glass before opening the door.

            “Did you do it?” Carla asked, makeup caked her entire face, grey fur flowed over her body, she was putting on earrings.  “Did you do it?”

            “Yes.”

            “Oh thank God!”

            “We’re good for another quarter.”

            “How much will you get?”

            “I don’t know, probably the same as last time.”

            “The same?”

            “Probably.”

            “D****t Bill!  How can you expect me to live like this?  Do you know what it’s like being the only wife in the company without a second house?”

            “I’m doing the best I can.  Did you test yourself today?  Are you pregnant?”

            “Oh honey, I can’t be expected to constantly carry children.  Can’t you just figure something out?”

            “Tax credits Carla.  Big ones for each child produced.”

            “Oh Bill you can’t expect me to simply deliver on demand.  Maybe we can try again tomorrow.”

            “Where are you going?”

            “Just to Betty’s.  We have to make appearances Bill, you know that.”

            “We need to have children Carla.  We won’t stick out so much.”

            “Oh Bill please!”  With that she was gone.

            Nickels crossed his large wide house to his son’s room.  Richard was there blasting music through the house.  He entered the room and approached his son.  The teenagers fingers were twitching, a holoscreen flickered across his eyes.

            Nickels put a hand on his shoulder.  “Hello son.”

            “Christ, do you mind I’m doing something.  Man, I hate when they do that.  Get a life already.  Yeah FlakeFree189, constantly.”

            Nickels walked out of the room to the sound of his son laughing with someone he never met.  He walked over to his room.  He crawled into his bead and hugged a pillow and closed his eyes.  The faces were there to greet him.  A parade of potentials.  There was Smith, still fresh and crisp, but not the only one from the just finished day.  There was Grant, and Gonzalez, and Wesely, and Dietrich, and Potter, and Lowenstien, and Brown, and Brinkley.  The images of their sad desperate faces flashed across his mind in better clarity than any hologram.  It had been a long day in a long week, and he needed to get in early if he was going to make his numbers next quarter.  He popped a pill, thankful for modern chemistry, and its gift of dreamless sleep.

Author's Note

Any comments welcome

Reviews

[Goat]

I love this story. It is kind of sad, but makes you think.