Quitting Time

Chapter 1: Quitting Time

SIMON GREENE adjusted his silver lab coat as he stepped on to the escalator, the numerous badges on his chest had begun to weigh down one side of the garment uncomfortably. Today, for the very first time, he had absentmindedly left his lab in E-Sector still wearing his designation coat, which wasn’t supposed to leave the room under any circumstances, but this was a special day--a day to cause absentmindedness.

Dust collected across the lenses of Simon’s glasses which made him acutely aware of the tiny dust particles floating all around him in the sour recycled air. The air was a necessity, Simon didn’t care for it. He, like the rest of the planet, longed for fresh air even though they had hardly tasted it themselves. His mouth twitched. What did it taste like? Did he even remember?

The escalator descended; the crowd below gathered.

Simon withdrew an opaque cloth from his briefcase and wiped his glasses. He didn’t need them, the glasses, but they were a precaution required by the Scientific United Nations, the S.U.N. Simon’s bosses, his boss’, boss’, bosses. They were the ones that controlled the building, and that was as much as Simon really knew. Fresh out of A levels he had been selected as a junior Pedologist, a name for which he had taken many ribbings through the years; he preferred to tell people he was a Sand Doctor. The S.U.N. had sought him out as the only person to have taken every planetary and extra planetary exit final and passed. The work was rewarding and the pay allowed for an opulent lifestyle for himself and his family, but it wasn’t what he wanted. He finished wiping his glasses and replaced them on the bridge of his narrow brow.

He was by no means an un-attractive man, but he had often been told by friends that his wife, Myra, was out of his league, way out, and that he cashed in the last of his luck when he met her. His nose was narrow at the bridge and oddly bulbous at its point, his ears and mouth were a tad small for his large head but his piercing green eyes distracted from his other lacking features. He stood as tall or taller than the rest of the men, just under six foot. Not too tall, not too short. He had regarded his height as a boon; in concordance with the fact that it earned him three extra points in the yearly census. Points were a good thing, and Simon had few other opportunities to collect bonus points outside his work.

The escalator descended; the crowd below began to surge out of the building.

Simon smiled as he watched his co-workers do there best to restrain themselves from bursting into a full sprint to get out of the large glass exit doors. Not Simon. He tried his best to think casually, not wanting to jinx anything. He looked around the room at the flags adorning the tops of the walls. Each of the eighty six nations of the world had a flag along the wall and in the center of them was the Scientific United Nations flag. The S.U.N. flag was twice as large as all the others and stark white with little bits of gold shimmering across it. The logo itself, Simon had thought, always looked like the letters S U and N in wheat stalk parenthesis. Simon cared little for the flag but the emblem in the center which was blazoned across all of his clothes brought him pride.

The tiny particles of dust began collecting on Simon’s lenses again, but he chose to look through them, sighing and resigning to a dusty fate. He looked up through the geodesic glass and metal ceiling to the thick grey mass of cloud that encompassed most of the world and forced them all indoors.

Simon hated the clouds.

’Necessary evils’ the Council said. If we wanted to achieve greatness we had to do with some level of pollution. That was thirty years ago when the first floating hydro-electric nuclear power plant, the METKA reactors, were launched off the remaining west coast of America. A stroke of wild genius by some team of mad men working for the early version of the S.U.N., though the S.U.N. would never admit it. The METKA reactors were meant to alleviate coal and land-based nuclear production, decreasing pollution and increasing the remaining hospitable land after the Great War. Instead the reactors ended up being used in addition to the existing power plants, doubling the Earth’s pollution as well as raising water thereby global temperatures. The domed cities were a last ditch effort to sustain life on planet Earth, but many found the quality of life had diminished so severely that staying on the planet was untenable.

Simon smirked. His job was simple, identify, classify, and reduce extra-planetary soil and other geological samples to their base components and pass them off to another team who came up with ways to terraform the samples into the soils of earth for colonization; colonization now crucial due to the toxic air encompassing the earth.

The escalator reached the bottom floor and Simon stepped off. He scanned the crowd for his friend Mark Sanders, hoping he too had not sprinted home. He had not. Mark was waving at Simon from across the concourse, a stout little man wearing a white porkpie hat and a blue suit. No extra points, Simon had thought, his first time meeting Mark. He had been ashamed of himself for a good half hour afterward until Mark mentioned his parentage. Mark’s father had a seat on the World Council—The World Council! Simon had thought. How much of a boon was this friendly rotund gentleman with the rosy face and the slick greased hair getting. Simon had been instantly jealous and quietly kept that way ever since.

Mark shoved his way passed men a good head taller than himself on his way over to greet Simon in the center of the concourse, once there he planted his feet firmly and struck out a hand accompanied by a wide grin. ’How ya’ feelin’ pal? Whats with the duds, bud?’ Mark said tauntingly, his eyes affixed on Simon’s silver lab coat. “I never knew you were a silver, good for you buddy. All this time you never told me?”

Simon looked down at his coat, his cheeks filling with embarrassment. “Oh, this old thing?” he replied, his voice nervously breaking. Mark wasn’t a coat at all, he was a white hat, a scientific judiciary officer. He was a babysitter for the men and women working at the complex, to make sure none of them had any harmful ideas. Though Simon liked his job, he had been told others were not so keen. Simon had not understood then but recently had started to understand why scientific judiciary officer’s were commonplace.

“I guess I must have forgotten to take it off, with the holiday and all” Simon said, his voice trailing off as he looked back up the twelve stories he had just descended, hoping leniency from his compatriot.

Mark looked Simon over carefully, his brow furrowing and eyes narrowing in careful contemplation. “ Quick! Take it off, Fet-head, stuff it in your purse before another S.O. notices!”

Simon was grateful for the favorable treatment but didn’t care for the insult, Fet-head. It was a nickname given to those who unadvisedly snuck out of the network of domes that housed the entire city to sit outside the dome and take in the toxic air, getting high off of it. A high that would irradiate and mutate their brains until speech and basic communication was impossible, making them as the air was outside, fetid. He did as he was told and shuffled off the coat discreetly and stuffed it into his briefcase. His briefcase bulged from its new contents and refused to buckle, forcing Simon to carry it under his arm to keep it shut.

“Thanks Mark, I owe you one.” Simon said, his eyes darting around for any sign of another S.J. Officer. “Any time buddy, but seriously you feelin’ okay? This time last year you were the head of that wild pack of nerds racing to get home to their mailboxes” Mark said jovially as he threw his arm around Simon’s shoulders, nearly knocking the briefcase out of his hold.

“It’s nothing, I’m just trying not to get my hopes up, that’s all. They only send out 150 winning envelopes a year, theres something like eleven and a half billion people on Earth. The odds are pretty low” Simon said brusquely, as he side stepped out of Mark’s reach--his pace quickening.

Along the otherwise aseptic walls of the S.U.N. concourse were a series of flat screens which for the moment displayed the S.U.N. logo in it’s usual glittering gold against a stark black background. The image flickered and changed accompanied by a cheerful fanfare; replacing the ever present emblem was a evening talkshow, which was usually hosted by Sandy Shale a charismatic young woman who used her attractiveness and her southern charm to lull the inhabitants of earth into a false sense of security. Her name in bold red letters scrawled across the screen, immediately followed by a black streak across her name. The lettering vanished and was replaced by a new name “Mona Mountains” in bright gilded letters. Her name disappeared and the camera panned in on a tall striking woman who had been awkwardly stuffed into a beautiful auburn dress that was at least a size too small. She stood on a small stage in front of a studio audience; behind her were: two seats, a small coffee table, a desk and on the back wall the word “Tonight!” hung in large letters. Uneasy in her heels she crossed the stage, and addressed the audience.

“Good Evening, Earth! This is Mona…Mountains?” She said proudly at first but trailed as she was clearly dissatisfied with the teleprompter. She sighed, smiled, and shook her head before taking a few more unsteady steps out into the crowd. As she walked, she pulled on the hem of her dress, attempting to remain modest.

Simon and Mark along with a few last lingering scientists gathered around the screens in the concourse. Tonight’s broadcast was supposed to be special and now everyone knew why. Sandy Shale, the long time love of the earth’s late night heart was gone. The two men glanced at each other pensively, their eyes never leaving the screen for long.

On the screen Mona reached the edge of the stage and struck a pose that would normally appear to be powerful as well as alluring but her garments continued to betray her, leaving her to look like a deli ham with it’s strings pulled tight. It was obvious to Simon and most of the viewing audience that this young girl was in fact filling Sandy’s shoes.

“And I’ll be taking over for Sally Shale!" she continued "Some things here are still in transition, but as you may know those Mega Brains over at the Scientific United Nations have sent out the coveted Blue Envelopes and our own Sally Shale has been selected as one of those lucky 150 citizens. She’ll be spending the night with her loving family before they transition into the Proxima Dormitories tomorrow. We wish them well!” Mona searched the faces of the audience but she saw that she was not what the crowd had expected and they were preparing to turn on her at any moment.

A small blue envelope appeared at the bottom right of the screen with the words “ Selection Day 2118” hovering above it in bright yellow letters.

Simon winced, hardly able to watch the replacement host walk across the stage; the blue envelope mocking him in the corner of the screen. Sandy had been good, great, even amazing at what she did, and she did it every night for the past twenty years. This young ingénue was about to be eaten alive.

Simon watched as Mona bravely stepped out into the audience and began to carefully walk up the steps searching for someone to lean on, finally coming to rest next to a large slovenly man seated a few steps up the aisle; she placed her hand on the back of the gentleman’s chair, which lit up to her touch. The man inspected Mona’s features closely, sweat visibly forming around his temples and upper lip.

At the bottom of the screen, a ticker appeared scrolling the words: “KELLY SHARP: Paid $1,000 for television appearance by EARTH BREW, Planet Earth’s BEST BEER”, out of the arm of the chair a ticket printed out and the man, Kelly, took the ticket and eyed it greedily, before showing it to his equally slovenly wife, who sneered venemously.

“Today is the day we’ve all been waiting for, selection day 2118! Today each and every eligible family will find one of two things in their mail boxes, a blue envelope if you’re among the lucky few to be chosen, or a yellow envelope for those of you who will have to, regretfully keep raising your point score and wait until next year!” Mona read from the teleprompter proudly.

Now feeling a little more graceful she winked at the man in the seat and moved on to another audience member, a woman just a few steps up the aisle. Mona leaned on the young woman’s chair and it lit up. The woman seated found no joy in being on television or winning a cash voucher, her name and information now scrolling across the bottom of the screen: “BRITTNEY MICHELLE, Paid $1,000 for television appearance by Cosmic Colors, the best hair color treatment in the galaxy” Which made sense because Brittney’s hair was the spitting image of Sandy’s platinum blonde, aside from the quarter inch of brown roots that were starting to show. She sat with her arms crossed, glowering at Mona; her head to toe Sandy Shale outfit spoke for itself, but she was not sufficed to let it do so.

“No more Mona we want Sandy! No more Mountains we want Shale” She chanted, pounding her fist into the air as she looked around for more to join her, which a few did.

“Stay tuned, all you yellow letter’s like me. Today we’re talking coping mechanisms, taking on new responsibilities, and in our final segment, as always, is daily smog coverage and what not to wear!” Mona said gloomily as she began the descent towards the stage, pulling the hem of her dress down as she walked.

“Poor girl” Simon said tenderly, turning to Mark to see his take on the program so far.

Mark shrugged and gestured towards the door. “ It will take ‘em a few years to replace Sandy, she was the brightest person I’ve ever seen. It was like turning on a ray of sunshine, her show.” he said nostalgically as he ushered Simon towards the exit doors. “Come on pal, I don’t know about you, but I wanna know. Good karma, bad karma, good mojo, bad mojo. I want it man. I want a seat on that rocket ship. I want off this festering rock, I don’t know about you.” As he spoke his chest visibly grew and his stature raised a good inch.

“I just don’t wanna screw anything up by wanting it too much this year, last year I was sure my family was gonna get picked. At thirty-eight I’m a year passed my prime, my specialty isn’t a priority-- I just don’t want to dream big, I want to dream appropriate. Be happy with what I’ve got” Simon said.

“You’re lying to yourself my friend, and don’t worry about all that points bullshit. It’s a lottery, my dad said so. We’ve all got the same shot, even him” Mark said as he pointed to a Fet-Head laying outside the building begging for change. “ My grandmother lives with me Sy. She’s eighty-six, and she’s excited. It’s space!” He continued boldly as he pushed Simon through the large glass doors that were the building’s exit.

Next Chapter: Commute