NTPWE Chapter 1: In which Jacob doesn't get fired

In the future there will be robots, and a hologram called JACOB who doesn't realise he is a hologram until he is falsely imprisoned. As Jacob comes to terms with his new state of being, he makes friends with ALONA, a sexbot who has broken her programming

 

 

“You still here?”

 

Jacob’s head shot up from where his eyes had spent the past three hours at his computer, not blinking. His eyes considered this acceptable working conditions for watching movies but preferred to stay closed as much as they could at the office. The husky, but feminine voice belonged to Caroline, the big boss’ secretary. She came permanently attached to a big, fake smile, aptly summing up everything Jacob hated about his job.

 

He managed a nod, watching her intently.

 

"Well, be careful not to interrupt Mr. Carrow, he’s in a private meeting. Have a good night.”

 

“Thank you. Good evening.”

 

Jacob nodded again, watching her as she walked away from his block of desks and went to jab the elevator call button more times than necessary.

 

He was almost done. Just needed to reference the quotes, then the 2106 Annual Project Report would be complete. This year had seen a great deal of progress in the new designs of the mag-lev cars. A breakthrough in the research department had increased the efficiency of the G-class onboard computers so that they didn’t reset when lights changed from red to yellow. Unfortunately this meant he had a lot to sum up to prove to the executives of Crashno Corp. that these new models, researched, manufactured and tested on the premises, were safe to release.

 

There. Jacob selected ‘Save hard copy’ from the computer menu and waited for the hard disc to pop out of the disc drive. After putting the disc in a case, he flicked off the computer and turned away before his bloodshot eyes could register the gaunt and stubbled face reflected in it.
“Just need to deliver this then I can escape.”

 

He collected his jacket and bag, then scurried off to the executive office. As he got closer, he couldn’t help but listen to the voices from within as they grew in volume. He stood at the door fascinated.

 

“But the next shipment will be tomorrow?”

 

Jacob didn’t recognise the voice. He leaned closer to the door while he decided what to do about it. It sounded... wounded, as if the owner had suffered his childhood years in front of a barrage of laughter and pointed fingers, possibly because of freshly administered bruises, wet underwear or a combination of the two. Jacob could sympathise.

 

He realised the polite thing to do would be to leave, after placing the disc in the slot by the door, but then he would be wondering what they talked about for the rest of the evening. The only other option was to listen, probably get caught and spend the rest of his working life providing manual oil changes for the labour bots in the testing labs. Despite this, Jacob stayed.

 

“Of course. The transports are all ready. I assume you’ll be paying per item.” His boss, Mr. Carrow, chuckled from the other side of the wooden barrier. “The god-would-damn aliens made the bots to be self-replicating so the sooner you pay the better! Shame the weapons aren’t though.”

 

Jacob flinched. “Self-replicating?” he whispered.

 

The secretary never mentioned the purpose of the meeting, but it didn’t sound like regular business. This was a Mag-Lev research facility not a robot factory. And did he say ‘weapons’?

 

“I will pay the usual. Just you make sure they get to the planet with the others. Hopefully, this shipment will speed things up. I thought we had chosen the perfect patsies, but so far there have been no results. Perhaps they are too stupid.” The stranger chuckled like a rodent on laughing gas.

 

“Patience. Whether it comes tomorrow or next year it does not matter.” Mr. Carrow’s voice operated in business mode now.

 

Noting this, Jacob realised the voices grew louder.

 

His nails dug into his palms.

 

Before he could determine if the pot plant behind him would provide sufficient camouflage, the door opened. He jerked.

 

The two figures froze in the doorway, giving Jacob plenty of time to contemplate how messy his clothes would become giving those oil changes.

 

Time froze, leaving Mr. Carrow’s greasy melon glaring from atop his stocky frame. Then the spell broken. Mr. Carrow frowned. It held for a while, but like a cat pulled from its favourite cushion, the frown moved, contorting at the edges. Realising that this was his boss’ best attempt at a smile, Jacob returned the gesture.

 

“Ah, Mr. Kelly. I presume you have that report done for me?”

 

Jacob delivered the disc into his boss’ open palm, afraid to say anything in case it made his hole any deeper. The way his boss scanned the preview display on the disc’s casing without losing the smile, however small it may have been, gave Jacob hope that things might yet be okay.

 

“Excellent!” Mr. Carrow said, at last. “Now you go home and have a good evening.”

 

Jacob offered a confused smile and walked away while he still could.

 

What had his boss been talking about with that man? Jacob didn’t recognise the stranger as an employee of Crashno Corp. In fact he felt sure that the company would never hire someone with more hair growing out of his nose than his head and who smelt like roasted garbage.

 

And since when did we trade in anything but vehicles?

 

Jacob felt more concerned by Mr. Carrow’s response when he thought about it. Employees had been fired for lesser infractions, and worse: Edgar Bellows. He had mysteriously disappeared after, at the last office party, he accidentally implied that Mrs. Carrow was an overweight sea cow. The next day the crash test dummy had screamed a lot louder than normal.

 

He was lucky he got off as lightly as he did. On further consideration, this made him more frightened than if he had been punished on the spot. There could be the hooded, heavy-footed figure of retribution lurking around any corner. He stopped to look carefully around the next turn of the corridor before continuing to his office. Nothing.

 

These fears faded like nighttime shadows in light of another affair. He was late again, Linda would kill him when he arrived home.

 

After riding the elevator down to the lobby, Jacob walked through the plush reception area into the street. He always wondered why ground floors of companies looked like hotel lobbies nowadays, but the sensation of the evening’s drizzle soaking through his jacket soon cleared his mind of all thoughts except those concerning the unique discomfort of wearing damp clothing.

 

Striding to the right, he approached the car park. Only two vehicles remained, dormant, but humming, locked to their magnetic pads. No matter how hard they tried, the researchers had never been able to eliminate that sound pollution. It annoyed Jacob that the energy went to waste, and he hoped they would sort it soon.

 

He approached his red MGL-113, triggering the movement sensors which told the CPU that someone had arrived and would it be so kind as to tell the doors to open in a friendly gesture of ‘hello’? The CPU said it would be happy to open the doors, but it wanted to make sure that this person approaching was not a thief intent on stealing the last mint in the mid-tray first. So, the CPU asked the micro camera in the door handle who approached and after confirming it was Jacob and not a burglar, the CPU decided it better open the doors before he got agitated and pulled the handle off again.

 

A click resounded as the lock opened, and the driver’s door followed suit with a hydraulic hiss.

 

To say the vehicle was new would be to risk your underwear spontaneously combusting, but it remained one of the few things that never failed Jacob. Sure, the Mag-Lev pads fell off at least once a week, but they clicked right back into place. Just four more years, he kept telling himself, and he would qualify for a free company upgrade.

 

He clambered inside, dumping his bag and jacket on the passenger seat and turned on the stereo. Some nineties song crashed through the speakers in a mix of synthetic beeps and voldaggles.*

 

“How did we ever put up with music before the invention of the voldagglooger?” Jacob asked himself, then hummed along to the tune as he pressed a big, shiny green button marked ‘Go’.

 

He would be home soon enough. However, his usual daily rounds led him to the New Oldbridge newsstand, a genuine wooden newsstand whose owner used to store and sell the latest model e-papers. Jacob parked his vehicle there every day after work, scrambled out to meet the stand’s owner and scanned the automatically updated headlines for any sign that somebody had a more pathetic life than he. Today’s quick glance revealed nothing hopeful, only more protests from women demanding new equality or as the National News Filter chose to communicate it through the palm sized LCD tablet, ‘MORE PMT INDUCED CRAP’.

 

Jacob picked up a tablet to read it more carefully. The words didn’t change - they just seemed bigger.

 

He tapped the screen. The image rippled momentarily, but reformed exactly as it had been.

 

“I know the intense political correctness last century almost self-destructed our society, but this idea of mandatory outbursts doesn’t seem any better to me.” Jacob told the newsstand owner.
The man rustled in his all-weather one-piece. Green and marked like a plastic doormat, it had to be two sizes too big for him.

 

“Better out than in I say. I remember my Daddy telling me how he couldn’t even order a sandwich at a railway siding without offending the shopkeeper, the other customers and even the sandwich.” He laughed. “Apparently, BLT was offensive to the ingredients because we didn’t use their full name.”

Snort. “How do you think the bread felt? It didn’t get a mention at all!”

 

Jacob continued to read the smaller print of the e-paper at this point, but the owner seemed determined to get something off his chest.

 

“Personally, I don’t feel validated if I’m not insulted more than fifty times before I get to work...”
Jacob ignored him.

 

According to the e-publication, most considered the protests ‘attention grabbing nonsense’ saying ‘the silly bints have been jealous ever since the arrival of the Sophisticated Love Units (S***s) which now hold most of the males’ attention, relegating the female populace to the menial aspects of married life once more.’

 

Jacob sighed.

 

If only there was some part of the world man hadn’t reached yet. You could make a nice home there.
In other news, a tree was rescued after being stuck up a cat. The cat seemed to be quite distressed but was recovering in hospital. The perpetrator had been fined heavily and banned from owning trees for two years. What was the world coming to?

 

By this time, the owner had finished his rant. “So how’s it going, Jake?”

 

“Oh, just fine.”

 

It annoyed Jacob that he had to lie, but he felt glad that someone cared to ask. Was that why he came here every day? It certainly wasn’t for the e-paper units. In three years he had never bought one, mainly because his television could download any broadcast worldwide. Still, he felt guilty just browsing every day.

 

“Can’t complain. Too much,” he added.

 

“Have you seen these protests?” the owner began.

 

At that moment, a man standing across the street caught Jacob’s attention. He could have sworn he had seen a similar mysteriously trenchcoated figure a few days ago.

 

“… Causin’ chaos all over the place. I don’t know. Women!”

 

As Jacob looked at him, the man turned as if suddenly interested in the crap-covered wall behind him.

 

“… But that one in the leather jacket is a stunner….” the newsman continued.

 

Jacob tried to recall where he had seen the man before.

 

“.. Beautiful hair she has and a body to die for…”

 

Hadn’t he been loitering around the office? This was the second stranger Jacob had met today, and he wondered if they were connected.

 

“… Wouldn’t mind showing her a good time hey, Jake? Jake?”

 

Completely unaware of what the newsstand owner had said, but aware he needed to provide an answer, Jacob broke from his stare.

 

“Huh? Sure. Yeah! I’ll catch you later.”

 

Jacob clambered back in his car and headed for home. Exciting as his day might have been, he really could not put off confronting his wife any longer.

 

 

 

 

 

* Voldaggles I cannot possibly describe as they have not been invented yet. To do so would be to break the second law of the Space-Time treaty of 2368, which I shouldn’t even have mentioned here for the mere mentioning of it before its conception is to break the thing which I cannot mention. Just forget I said anything at all.

Author's Note

This is the first chapter as it stands now. I have already made plans to add a more exciting introduction I just haven't got round to it yet. Let me know any thoughts though, regardless.

Reviews

[Heartless Breaker]

oh wow...
Give me a minute, I'm laughing really hard and I can't get a full thought out...
XD

Okay, that is a really fun story. I love sci-fi stories. Being a techno music freak, I must agree with the...what was it? Voldaggles? (hahaha)
The guy in the trenchcoat and the whole conversation with the new guy and the boss were good lead-ins for further mystery.
There are various grammatic errors, but a good read-through would fix that.
Again, great story. Keep it up! ^_^
Yoshi♫