Maximilian

A lifetime ago ...

The long line shuffles forward towards the lone desk set up right at the factory's gates. Its that time of the month again, when we all get paid for our labor. In the old days the paychecks would be deposited straight into our bank accounts, but the bosses here had decided that more human interaction was needed in the process. So this stupid ritual had been developed. On payday, the cashier from finance would squat his fat ass by the gate when the work day ends and would personally hand us our wages.

I heard from some old timers at the factory that this ritual was originally used during the heady days of the reconstruction, when the bosses would hand out year end bonuses in cash. The clerks in the office would be sent to buy piles of pillow cases which would then be stuffed to the brim with that sweet, sweet money. The factory was rolling in fat stacks of cash during those days, helping the town rebuild after the horror of an aborted Armageddon. After the big collapse, everyone thought the good times had finally rolled around. It was about time for a change in luck anyway.

Then the planet started sliding backwards. The atmosphere started becoming toxic again and anyone without an O2 breather would wind up drowning in his own blood within an hour of exposure. No O2 breather? Then you better damn well stay indoors and hope that the building's connection to the O2 pipe network was not disrupted. The pipe network was our literal lifeline, allowing us to draw breath indoors and being the means of how the portable O2 breathers are recharged.

There was just one problem. Building the pipe network and supplying all that oxygen is expensive. The cost of extending the pipe network beyond the town's established districts meant the grand plan for redeveloping the large tracts of abandoned land in the outskirts went up in smoke, taking the contracts the factory was counting on with it. And that's how what was originally meant to be triumphant expression of success became a demand of gratitude from the factory towards us, its employees. Oh, its not easy for anyone now. Oh, we're trying our best to keep you employed, you know? So eat that shit and be thankful.

Or something like that. My guess of what's going on in corporate's mind is probably close enough anyway.

But something is different today. The gate leading out of the factory compound has been shut, with security being posted about to prevent us from leaving. A stage with a podium had been set up right next to the gate. Workers who had already collected their pay are being guided by security towards the stage, where they mill about aimlessly. The line crawls forward again and its finally my turn at the head of the queue.

I hand over my employee pass and the cashier leafs through a dogeared book, searching for my name, the rolls of fat across his body jiggling all the while. After a minute of searching, the cashier finds the log entry for my wages and pulls out a check from a separate clear folder. The check is handed to me and I automatically sign for its receipt without really thinking, the habit hardwired into me after months of practice. The cashier accepts his record book back with a grunt, sweating from sitting under the evening sun.

"Go wait by the stage." the cashier says, "A mandatory dialogue session is coming up."

"Dialogue? About what?" I ask, but a security guy us already tugging at my arm, forcing me to make way for the next person in line. I'm hustled towards the stage like everyone else and wind up mingling with the confused and bemused crowd. As I push my way through the shifting sweaty mass, my eyes catch a familiar face.

"Burke." I greet my supervisor, who stares at the empty stage with a look of consternation on his face.

"Oh, hey Max." Burke replies distractedly his voice muffled through the O2 breather, "You have any idea what's going on?"

"Haven't the foggiest." I shrug while stifling a yawn, "Just want to go back home, honestly."

"What happened to the police case involving you?" Burke suddenly queries.

"Why are you asking?" I frown, looking Burke straight in the eye, "I thought we discussed this already. What I do outside of work is my business."

"I've heard things from the staff at the office." Burke leans closer, "I think I know why we've been gathered here today."

"No way." I mutter, "You mean the rumors were true?"

"Yep. One of the security people confirmed it with me." Burke confirms, "The factory finally got permission to bring migrants in as part of a deal with the local government."

"Rapefugees." I correct.

"Whatever you want to call them." Burke shakes his head and bulls on, "They're saying that the migrants are just supplemental manpower but ..."

"How many rapefugees are we talking about?" I press my supervisor.

"No idea." Burke mutters, "But arrangements have been made for hiring two, maybe three trucks to ferry those migrants about."

"Bullshit." I curse, "There's barely enough work at the factory as it stands now. Those rapefugees aren't supplementary labor. They're our replacements."

"You think so too?" Burke whispers as I nod, "Look, corporate knows people will flip out once they find out, so they set up this dialogue session."

"A few pretty words are not going to help." I snort while idly watching the gate.

"Its going to be more than that." Burke replies as he scans the crowd, "A local Right Honorable will be showing up as well. With a contingent of riot busters."

"Soft soap and hard batons then?" I huff, staring at the gate as security pulls it open, admitting a chauffeured SUV and several black police vans into the compound. The vehicles pull up in front of the stage and the riot cops disembark from the vans, fanning out to create a secure perimeter.

"Fully armored." Burke comments as the police get into position, "They're expecting trouble."

"They've got shields and electrified crowd control staves. Guns as well." I observe, "Probably loaded with bean bag rounds, but you never can tell."

"The police wouldn't go so far as to shoot us outright." Burke objects, but I can see him twitching nervously.

"Maybe not." I agree, "But they're certainly not here for a good faith negotiation."

The doors of the SUV open and a slender, silver haired man steps out flanked by bodyguards and makes his way to the stage. An office drone moves takes up a microphone and begins introducing the local politico to the crowd.

"It might be good news after all?" Burke asks hopefully, "As you said just now, you never can tell."

"You wish." I snort as the so called Right Honorable begins his speech, "If it was good news, you think riot busters would be on standby?"

Burke chokes out a bitter laugh as the Right Honorable drones on about something or other concerning the rapefugees.

" ... and so we are proud to welcome these newest additions to the community ..." the Right Honorable babbles.

"Where are all these migrants coming from anyway?" Burke complains, "How can there be so many of them?"

"From some other country. Their agriculture collapsed, at least that's what I heard." I say, "Then the rapefugees get on shitty dinghies and make their way here."

"Dinghies can't cross the crimson sea." Burke objects.

"The dinghies are not meant to." I explain, "The rapefugees sail to a trade route, waiting for a ship to pass by. They then sink their dinghy and wait to be rescued and brought to the nearest port."

"How hasn't anyone caught on yet?" Burke murmurs in disbelief.

"Everyone knows the stupid secret." I snort, "But would you refuse to save a boat of drowning people?"

"Huh." Burke sighs in defeat, "So that's why you do what you do?"

"Its the only way to stop that pack of scammers. They're just taking us for a ride," I snarl while pointing at the politico, "and people like him are helping the rapefugees."

" ... a poor, starving people, seeking a better life ..." Mr Right Honorable vomits more crap on the stage.

"How is that our problem?" an angry shout interrupts the politico.

"Bravo!" I back my fellow employee up and clap my hands loudly. The Right Honorable graces us with a bland smile and continues his speech not in the least put out, but the riot busters tense noticeably.

"Max, don't start trouble, not now." Burke warns, "We aren't ready for it."

"Fine." I mutter and keep my peace as the one sided dialogue continues.

" ... so nobody needs to fear for their livelihoods ..."

"What a load of crap!" comes a yell from another corner of the crowd.

"Tell us how many of those migrants are unemployed!" someone else challenges, "Go on, tell us!"

The crowd begins to seethe slowly edging towards the stage with barely concealed hostility. The riot busters raise their shields, ready for action. Mr Right Honorable this time looks slightly worried as his bodyguards rush up to the stage to get him to safety.

"ENOUGH!" Burke roars over the commotion, "Show some respect to our guest!"

Everyone turns around and immediately quietens down upon realizing who it is. As one of the longest serving supervisors here, Burke's got clout on the factory floor. The crowd unenthusiastically reins in its fury and goes back to glaring sullenly at the Right Honorable. The politico flashes a grateful smile at Burke before resuming his spiel. But Burke doesn't notice as he pulls me to the side, away from prying eyes.

"Max, you have experience in dealing with this sort of thing right?" Burke urgently questions.

"Yeah?" I respond, "Not sure what you want of me though."

"The trucks will be coming in a week." Burke continues, "If I can rally the guys, get them to make a stand, can we count on you to supply us with the stuff we need?"

"Stuff as in ... ?" I leave the question trailing off meaningfully.

"Stuff to do what you do." Burke confirms grimly.

"Oh. That." I laugh, "That's not a problem."

"Not a problem at all."