Parven Udall clenched his jaw in the familiar, conspicuous display of Trying to Control his Rage that Kennick Carlos Warburton knew merely warned of an imminent explosion. A part of him wanted to shrink down to nothing, to try to go unnoticed and hope most of the blast wave would pass over him. But, against his better judgment, he heard his voice actually attempting to rationalize with the Super.

               “Keep in mind, sir, that it’s just the Screens. All other systems are functional. We shouldn’t lose any productivity.”

Inside, Kennick was already wincing and promising to beat himself up later – if there was a later – but his outward mask remained passive and blank.

               “Kennick, you braindead roach!” Parven shouted, shifting from silent to enraged in a heartbeat, as predicted. They were standing on the rusted platform overlooking the Potato Field: an entire floor of the building devoted to growing this highly sought-after vegetable. All internal walls had long ago been knocked down, with only the minimum load-bearing pillars remaining. Only a narrow walkway of traditional flooring skirted the perimeter of the massive room. The rest of the floor was piled with soil, artificially enriched by a particularly noisome fertilizer. Massive UV lights hung from the ceiling, shining down on the orderly rows of potato crops, and on the women and men who were harvesting them, and who would go blind for a few seconds if they had time to look up.

The bare-metal platform and gangways had been welded to the exposed steel skeleton of the room, so that Parven could look down on – literally, oversee – his workers, and walk the length and breadth of the farm, without compromising arable land. None of the workers even flinched at his sudden outburst. A Udall shout was no uncommon occurrence, and unless it was directed at you, it was safer not to acknowledge it.

Now, scanning his hunched and toiling workers, Udall regained enough control over himself to lower the volume so that only Warburton would hear him. He rebalanced his excess rage by grabbing his lieutenant by the shoulders, squeezing hard as he pulled him to within an inch of his face, and shaking him violently for emphasis, when necessary.

               “Do you even know why we have the Screens?”

               “I…I…I…” was the only gaping reply Kennick could manage.

               “The same reason we have the madres.”

At this unexpected revelation, Kennick was momentarily distracted from his terror.   

               “Sir?”

Udall released him and quickly turned his back, heading down the steel bar-grating stairs to the exit.

               “Walk with me” he said behind him.

Kennick scurried up behind his jefe, then had to duck as Udall turned back at the doorway to scream at the workers.

               “I WANT THIS CROP PICKED CLEAN BY CLOSE OF BUSINESS OR I’LL MAKE FERTILIZER OUT OF THE LOT OF YOU!”

He then continued on his way, leaving Warburton to translate the threat into the chattery Earth language these cockroaches spoke.

When Warburton rejoined his boss, Udall continued his lecture.

                “Some Blocks allow children residents. Block 73925 does not. We allow the madres, who produce children, but they earn their keep by pacifying the men. And so do the Screens. Understand?”

Kennick truly wanted to understand, but he didn’t, and he had learned the hard way that pretending to understand when he didn’t earned more punishment than simply admitting his ignorance. So he shook his head. Udall sighed and continued, as the two walked toward one of the massive but now empty central staircases.

                “Everyone in this block knows that as soon as a madre, or any female for that matter, gets pregnant, they have to look for a new Block. Or try their luck living Outside. But I’m not unreasonable. Preggos can stay here until they drop their sprogs, and if they continue to put in their required shifts. They can even give birth in the Block, as long as it isn’t in one of the Farms. And if the baby is stillborn, or if they lose it before they give birth, they can just keep their apartments and shifts, like nothing ever happened.

               “I’m not unreasonable. In fact, the No Kids policy and Strict Work Attendance are the only two rules I really enforce. Why do you think that is?”

There were two urges competing in Kennick’s mind, two potential roles to play in this encounter: the Sycophant and the Apt Pupil. And he had very little time to choose between them. 

               “Because you’re a good person, sir?”

Udall stopped and turned to glare into Warburton’s quickly downcast eyes, and Kennick knew he had guessed wrong. 

               “Fuck you, Warburton,” Udall said, before turning to resume his walk and lecture.

               “It’s about efficiency, trisome. It’s about maximizing the work. Those are the only two rules we need. Stay childless and a show up for your shift every day, and you can do pretty much anything you want in your spare time. And the less I know about said spare time, the better. The only info I want on you is your timesheet and your productivity stats.”

They turned a corner and passed the two brawny guards armed with heavy, cylindrical pipes who stood at the entrance to the relatively clean inner corridors, reserved for management residences and offices.

               “I run a tight ship, where production is concerned,” Udall continued. “No slackers. No skivers. No kids. No one who can’t or won’t put in a full shift. Every. Single. Day. Sounds great, right?”

               Kennick rapidly nodded, increasing the tempo and babbling “Yes, yes” when he saw Udall stop and face him again. Then he flinched as Udall’s hand flashed around to slap the back of his head.

               “Wrong, mongoloid! It creates pressure. Unrelenting effort creates pressure, and what happens when pressure builds up?”

               Again, Kennick responded with the confused vocalic stuttering.

               “That’s right. You don’t know. How the fuck would you? You fucking Earther imbeciles have no idea what pressure even is.”

               They had stopped again, in the empty hallway leading to The Super’s private quarters. Udall was passing a hand over his face, pausing at his temples to rub them in exasperation. Then, without warning, he grabbed Warburton again, this time by the neck, both his hands squeezing his trachea. 

               “Pressure,” Udall said, somewhere between a hiss and a growl, “is when something presses against something else, some powerful force. If pressure is allowed to build up, eventually it breaks through.”

               Kennick struggled to listen. Truly he did. He knew the teachings of his jefe were the only path to something better than the damp and dirty life in the Blocks. But his hearing grew was drowned out by a pounding in his ears. His eyes opened wide in fear.

               “Do you feel your eyes bulging? That’s the pressure. If I let it build up, your eyes will pop out of your head. Did you know that? Does that sound like fun?”

               Naturally, Kennick was unable to respond.

               “Of course not,” Udall continued without him. “So I have to find a way to release the pressure.”

               With that, Udall let go and Kennick crumpled to the floor, choking and retching. When Udall knew he was composed enough to listen again, he stood over his Assistant Super.

               “That’s what the Screens do. That’s why we have them. They release the pressure. They numb what passes for a brain in your crippled Earther skulls. They stop you brooding and organizing and feeling like you’re going to explode. In that way, they’re even more important than the filthy madres, because they work for everyone, not just the men. Though you dog-boys do seem to need some extra distractions, don’t you?”

               Kennick dry-heaved and then spat on the dank and threadbare carpet, causing Udall to look away in disgust.

               “I need to sort this out. Now. Before we lose productivity. In the meantime, I want you to go fetch your own Screen and start trying to use it. I want a full report on what it can and can’t do, A-sap! And I want you on the potato floor, making sure those bipedal vermin don’t start jacking off before the whistle blows. You read me loud and clear, shitbag?”

Kennick could only nod and struggle to his feet as Udall entered his quarters and slammed the door behind him, leaving Warburton to wonder which task he was expected to do first, or whether he was supposed to be in two places at once. 

Next Chapter: The Problem