Effacing Debt: Chapter 1

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. The walls of a space station however carry one quite nicely. Or at least that is what number 69 thought when he heard the echoes of his fellow debtors.

“You think it will hurt?” Said number 70 his breath tickling 69’s neck hair as he spoke.

“I don’t know,” 69 answered truthfully. He didn’t imagine going from bipedal to quadrupedal would be a pleasant experience despite the company's advertisements.

69 couldn’t help but grimace as he thought of what being a quadrupedal might entail. Like everyone who was fortunate enough to live under the guiding palm of the Invisible Hand he had seen quadrupeds. Anyone with a sufficient salary could afford to buy one’s debt. 69 had seen them mostly as furniture, a pet that followed around their debt holder until he needed a seat or a table, a few he’d seen ridden which had come across as comical or oddly sexual than. He’d heard other tales of them working in jobs too dangerous or accident prone. 69 had always felt bad for them but figured it was their fault for finding themselves in debt offering up their contorted body to the highest bidder just so they could start at zero. Just to start over at zero, 69 could help but wonder if it might have been better to stay with his current job and pay off his debt slowly, sure it would have taken four times as long but being a quadruped…

“It won’t hurt. Not much anyway. Those screams aren’t from pain, It’s because they can’t swim,” said number 68. It was hard to tell with them all wearing identical gray skin tight suits, each only identifiable by a number emblazoned across their suite, making them seem divers about to take a plunge, and the dim lighting but 69 got the impression 68 was older than his thirty two years.

69 and 70 waited for him to elaborate but when it was clear he wasn’t 70 said, “you sound like you’ve done this before.” It was an acquisition not a question.

You weren’t allowed to move out of line while walking towards the procedure room so 69 had no way of knowing but he thought he heard 68 smile when he answered, “yes a few times actually. I keep working off my debt but I just can’t seem to make it as an hourier. Honestly, I have thought about just staying on all fours. Might be better for me.”

The three of them were silent after that. 68 was deep in some kind of contemplation. 70 scoffed at the idea anyone might stay a quad, he sounded young to 69, probably still had dreams of making a salary or becoming a shareholder or even a FatCat. They all knew that was impossible for quad’s The Bank clearly stated that only bipedal could hold accounts and were subject to the scant protections/insurance they offered. 69 for his part had been an hourier for long enough to know how unlikely 70’s dream was but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

A loud robotic bing echoed down the corridor as shiny metal doors slid open and a screen flashed green, it was 68’s turn.

68 sighed before saying, “Word of advice, just jump, it's better that way. After that move fast. You don’t have to be first just don’t be last,” and then stepped inside.

The doors slammed shut and the screen turned red. Next it would be 69’s turn.

“Did you see what was inside?” Whispered 70 as if someone listening actually cared what he said.

"No," was 69's simple and honest reply.

69 heard 70 shuffle behind him, an animal who knows it's been cornered. 69 knew before it happened, the squeak of 70's shoes as he tried to bolt, the angry curses of their fellows as 70 shouldered past until a zapping sound and the smell of burnt plastic filled 69’s nostrils. 69 heard clanking and clattering from the ceiling, then whizzing sound and finally daring a quick glance behind 69 saw 70 suspended from a metal pole protruding from the ceiling ending with a metallic collar wrapped around 70’s neck.

69 was right, 70 was young, at least ten years his junior. He looked almost peaceful unconscious like that, a baby cat asleep in his mothers jaws. 69 heard some of the other debtors chuckle at one another, he wondered if like 68 this wasn’t their first time. 69 hoped this would be his only time.

The screen flashed green and the doors slide open, so inviting like being called to your table at a nice restaurant. 69 passed the threshold, a slight woof of air letting him know the door behind him was now closed. He followed a luminous trail on the ground, the new corridors still dim, his hands and feet still unidentifiable shadows.

After walking for a spell 69 could see the end of the light and beyond just darkness. He heard the sloshing of water, a large body of water. Some kind of pool must be in the room. A mask connected to a tube dropped from the ceiling at the end of the lights.

“Please fasten and secure the breathing mask to your face. When you are done please step off the ledge. You have one minute to complete this task before acquiring interest on your debt.” The voice was clearly recorded and left no room to argue.

69 quickly fasted in his mask, he found the thing surprisingly comfortable at least to someone who was used to wearing a splitters frame for eight hours a shift. 69 didn’t so much step off the ledge, plank really, as fell off it. He’d been pretending he was walking underwater like a deep sea diver he’d seen in an old Earth movie when he simply fell into the liquid that was apparently right below him. The light must have led him onto some kind of sturdy plank suspended over whatever gelatinous liquid he now found himself in.

69 wondered if the screams he’d heard before had been from people falling in the water, it made sense especially since many houriers didn’t know how to swim. 69 was fortunate that the company he worked at, used to work for he corrected himself, had transported machines to various gyms enabling him to get a very cheap membership otherwise he would have been similarly unprepared.

69 was wondering what would happen next when tentacle clamps gripped his limbs holding him firm. 69 barely had time to think, ‘this can’t be good’ before syringes began stabbing him all over, a procession of piercing needles injecting him with something. It was like getting a full body tattoo all at once if they used molten lava instead of ink. 69 couldn’t help but try to wriggle free but the tentacle clamps held him in place.

At some point it stopped, 69 honestly wasn’t aware when but the burning sensation turned to a smolder one. 69 tried to use his hands intending to feel something he had to know what they’d done to him but found he had the fine motor controls of a jellyfish. He imagined machines making him into dough then rolling him out. He expected soon they would begin molding him using giant cookie cutters but before that happened he noticed the air in his mask took on a familiar sweet taste. He experienced this flavor at the dentist before, it was laughing gas. Soon the tentacle clamps, which had never let go only gone slack, began contorting 69 like an action figure. 69 knew he should be hearing the crunching sounds of bone breaking and normally would be a paraplegic several times over by now but he wasn’t. He was just an action figure for the machines to play with putting him in whatever pose suited him.

The blessed final stage started when the machines ran electrical current throughout his body. It wasn’t pleasant but nothing compared to the beginning, the pain equivalent of lifting heavy boxes for several hours. His muscles took on solid form and 69 knew he could move if it wasn’t for the tentacle clamps.

“Your conversion process is now complete, 69-J, you will now be lifted and placed on a conveyor belt. Please keep all limbs inside at all times and do not move until told to do so. We at Four Steps industry wish you well in your evaluation process and may the Invisible Hand push you ever forwards towards working off your debt. We hope to see you standing on your own two feet soon!” the same robot voice from before said, sounding odd and distant underwater.

True to its word 69, now 69-J for reasons he would probably never know, though he did see that at some point during the procedure a J had been added to his uniform, was lifted out of the liquid and placed on rough plastic mat which slowly began carrying him forward. His body was on fire, every neuron firing. 69-J was reborn emerging from the smoldering wreckage of his past life no longer human but not an animal either, something primal from before humanity walked on two legs.

The conveyor belt dropped him onto a small platform, he had to curl up like a dog to fit, with a pergolas on it, covering him from what 69 had no idea. This platform moved autonomously, a kind of robotic dolly. 69-J’s saw he was bobbing and weaving across the floor around other similar dollys with quadrupedal passengers. Somehow never colliding before eventually coming to rest before a trough jam packed with some kind of mush.

“Eat,” said a voice to his side, another newly formed quadruped judging from its silhouette, why were the lights always so dam dim here?

“It will be gone soon. Eat.” the voice commanded again.

69-J crawled forward surprised to find his new body worked well if tired, so tired, and sore, 69-J wondered if he had really been turned into an electrocuted piece of meat instead of a quadruped and this was his fever dream before the afterlife. Unfortunately it wasn’t the case his limbs were all there, twisted and deformed but unmistakably his. The procedure drastically changed the way he moved, no longer walking but slinking forward like a drunk cat. He’d thought being a quadruped would be reminiscent of crawling on the floor as a kid pretending to be a bug or a monster but this was different and it came so naturally. 69 didn’t doubt that walking on two legs would soon seem like a distant dream.

Contemplation aside 69-J would have content himself with stuffing his face like a swine. Practically toppling into the trough 69-J leaned over the side and began shoveling handfuls of gruel down his throat, trying not to chew or even taste whatever he was putting into his body. He heard others down the trough line performing similar actions. There seemed an infinite number of them feeding in both directions, some throwing up as parts of the trough rolled away the company clearly not willing to feed anyone who would so casually disregard what they’ve been given.

“If you have to vomit, do it behind you. That’s where the refuse goes,” said the voice again. Having regained some of his wits 69-J remembered the voice now, it was 68. 68-K now he saw, his eyes having adjusted slightly to the gloom.

“You made it,” 69-J mumbled, glad to have something familiar nearby.

“Of course I did,” 68-K said before backpedaling and relieving himself. 68-K saw 69-J looking in horror as the elder quadrupede relieved himself by squatting and releasing his stool, “I’d do it soon. Make sure your plumbing is working. Don’t want to find out during the gauntlet.”

“Gauntlet?” was all 69-J could manage.

“Yea after this we’ll take a nap and then we’ll have to run through an obstacle course. It’s to test our reflexes and whatever. After that they’ll run some more tests and if you're lucky someone will purchase your debt.”

“What if someone doesn’t purchase us-it?” they were buying his debt in exchange for some kind of work 69-J tried to tell himself.

“What do you think we’re eating?”

69-J relieved himself, finding that he could produce waste equally well out of both ends.

After that came sleep, 69-J wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, the last thing he remembered was 68-K talking about someone sure to buy his debt and then blessed darkness.

“You three want a raise eh?” said 69-J’s boss, old boss he reminded himself, he was no longer employed.

69-J sat sandwiched between his two co-workers, Toby and Oscar he’d had a different name then but that had been the first thing they’d changed about him. All three were splitters, the best splitters in the processing station. In charge of taking any box the machines couldn’t sort and sorting it. With the help of eight-ten mechanical arms of course.

“You know we’re the best,” Toby said putting his arms behind his head in a relaxed manner. This crowded 69-J but he didn’t say anything, they had to be united, they were stronger together.

“You think just cause you can sync means you're special? I could train any one of these houriers to take your place. I just might bump you down to stacker.”

69-J knew their boss was technically right, syncing wasn’t special, everyone synced with their CP’s. The trick was doing it well, and managing the eight to ten arms that sat on your back when splitting was no easy feat. It had taken 69-J a week just to not tangle up his arms let alone sort the packages as they flew by on a conveyor belt.

“Yes you can train someone else. They’ll get the hang of it eventually. Think about what that would do to your numbers while you’re training them though? How many packages would be sent to the wrong section. Maybe the next station would catch it in time but if they didn’t,” Oscar held up his hands, “can’t imagine what corporate would think of that.”

Their boss tapped his fingers on his desk, “I’ll look at the budget, see what I can do.”

They’d left that meeting so triumphant, of course they were going to get their raises. They’d negotiated just as The Bank said they should and they’d won. The Invisible Hand was finally lifting them upwards. Who knew maybe one day they could go from being houriers to salaryers one day…

Eighteen hours later the Fists had picked 69-J up for unionizing and slapped a debt on him that would have taken at least eight but more likely ten years to pay off. So he’d sold his debt to Four Steps, promising he’d probably only have to work a year or two max depending on who bought his debt. It irked him that whoever bought his debt would be technically paying his previous employer but at least this way they wouldn’t get any work out of him. With Toby killed by the Fists and Oscar vanished his boss would have a hard time making numbers and 69-J knew how much corporate hated when they didn’t make numbers. It was something.

A loud buzzer woke 69-J. Large fluorescent lights finally providing good illumination from above though everyone was still cast in the shadow thanks to their individual pergola. Their troughs gone, 69-J’s could only view the ass of the quad in front of him. 69-J heard the familiar sound of a screen going green and the clamoring of feet, different with everyone on all fours. 69-J guessed that if he were a bird he would see rows of quadrupeds rushing out like dogs in a race. Once the row in front of him sprinted away he finally got a look at his fellow quadrupeds, an unholy combination of a sick cat mixed with an equally sick raccoon covered in human levels of hair, everyone's head left eerily unchanged.

Too anxious to just wait, 69-J pestered 68-K with questions, “what will we have to do?”

“Run, jump, maybe climb something.”

“Will we have to swim?” 69-J thought this might give him a leg up.

“Maybe but I doubt it. Don’t want to damage the merchandise,” 68-K said with a rolling shrug.

“Do we have to fight?”

“Not unless you want to. They don’t like that though, no one wants a damaged quad.”

Then it was their turn, the same screen but much larger hovering off to the side first red then flashing green and then they were off. First up then down a hill, then climbing up a small rope to vault across a ledge. Large rocks jutting out of rushing water which they had to frogger across, 69-J heard several screams as the water rushed them away penance for miscalculating their jumps. Then it was time to crawl through mud, climb up a wall this time by hand, sprinting across freshly frozen snow and scorching desert sand. Finally tumbling down a slick path while diving away from oncoming trees, bushes and other kinds of foliage before coming to a door with a puzzle in it. Each one different, each requiring a quadruped to finish it to advance.

Then as swiftly as the gauntlet had begun it was over and 69-J found himself practically having to throw himself backwards to avoid crashing into a low table full of vaguely organic looking bricks. 69-J wasn’t sure what to do with the brick until he saw several of the others eating them. They were sweet like an acidic fruit with the consistency of leather. They were disgusting and 69-J wished he could have eaten his body weight in bricks, an unconscious four legged compatriot drug away by a drone for pickup up a second disavowed 69-J of that notion.

“Good to see you made it,” said 68-K munching on a bar to his side.

“What next?” 69-J asked 68-K who seemed as unfazed as always.

“We wait for them to call us. Buyers are reviewing our performance right now. Then you’ll be brought before one or more of them and they might ask you questions or examine you, see if you're worth it.”

“And then?”

“If they want you. They’ll buy your debt. If not,” 68-K gestured to the bars.

69-J nearly vomited but 68-K patted his back laughing, “I’m kidding they don’t feed us quads. We have too many hormones in us. Though I don’t actually know what they do with the ones whose debts aren’t bought.”

68-K seemed to be thinking about this when he was called.

“Well that would be my buyer, good luck to you,” he said before leaving.

After 68-K left 69-J didn’t talk to anyone, he looked around for 70 but he didn’t see him. Others had their numbers called and just when the anxiety seemed too much 69-J was called and directed to wait in a queue behind several other quads. After a few more had arrived they directed into an obstacle course/war room with numerous unmoving tanks lying around. They were all directed to sync with a tank and then drive it to a designated starting point before the game began and they had to blast the other tanks with some kind of EMP gun that shut them down. It was simpler than directing his splitter’s arms making 69-J an early force to be reckoned with. He wasn’t the only proficient user however and ended up tying for third, him and another tank shooting each other at nearly exactly so a forth and third place medal hung by their names as they waited in another room.

69-J didn’t talk to anyone but he heard someone mention this was the last step and 69-J prayed to the Invisible Hand that it would be. He was so tired he might have collapsed if he wasn’t afraid of where the drones might take him.

Finally he was called and found himself being examined by four potential buyers. One a large woman with skin and a dress that mirrored the changing sky at dusk and dawn, 69-J wasn’t sure what her business was.. Another was a FatCat too large to move himself, sitting instead on a chair carried by hairless well muscled quadrupeds. The third was wearing some kind of Warfists uniform, some kind of commander 69-J reasoned. The fourth was a businesswoman dressed in fine shareholder regalia most likely representing some corporation or hedge fund.

“Not very muscular, this one is he?” the FatCat said to no one in particular, “no. I do not think I will be bidding,” said the FatCat leaning back he tapped his screenpad and began stroking his quadrupeds in an uncomfortable sensual way, his mind already on other things.

The Warfist took center stage looking at his screenpad and scrolling thru something, “You’ve clearly got some sync skill. Didn’t do too bad on the obstacle course either, clearly smart. Tell me why did you try to unionize?”

69-J might have laughed if these people hadn’t held his future in their hands, “I wasn’t trying to unionize. We just wanted better pay, figured we stood a better chance if we negotiated as a group.”

The Warfist scoffed, “couldn’t do it yourself, too afraid? Relying on others instead of your own merits. Disgusting,” he said tapping his screenpad. He was clearly a no go.

69-J wasn’t exactly flummoxed by their disinterest but was also becoming anxious with only two suitors to go. He didn’t want to know what happened if no one bought his debt…

“Roll over,” said the woman with twilight clothes.

69-J looked around to see what animal she was talking to until he realized it was him. He complied, hoping she wasn’t going to rub his belly.

“Hmm not bad, not great,” she said, reaching down and grabbing his manhood. 69-J tensed wanting to strike her for the violation, rage shimmering at the indignity, he was no dog to be fondled and… resignation sunk in as 69-J fell limp, he was powerless there was nothing he could do, not being able to walk on four legs meant he had as many rights as a pet. The woman continued to cradle and massage his testicles in her hand, just a customer examining the meat.

“Hmm, let's see,” the woman said, stroking his shaft as it revealed itself. A ding from her screenpad drew her attention. Her eyes widened as a mischievous smile crossed her lips, “aw well than hope you enjoy Io.”

The woman swapped places with the shareholder woman who clapped her thigh signaling for 69-J to follow. His body did though his mind was far away. He was brought before another woman who was more machine than flesh who strapped a collar onto 69-J. The woman then lead him to a hanger bay and into a ship where 69-J joined three other quadrupeds. The four of them were locked in kennels and fastened, one cried, the other two glowered at the machine woman who paid them no mind. 69-J wondered what his face looked like, desolate he imagined. The woman rolled an ancient screen in front of them and secured it in place. 69-J was just beginning to think he had no idea who had bought him and why, he remembered the woman mentioning Io which was a moon of Jupiter. He didn’t remember much about it other than that the first voyagers had been surprised to find silicon based life there and no life on Europa which everyone had suspected. He knew something happened when life on Io got hit with water or air or something, it crystalized…

A jerking as the ship took off jolted 69-J back to the present. Then the screen turned on.

“Hello and welcome to the Presli Corporation,” a far too cheerful voice said as the company logo flashes across the screen, “if you’ve watching this that means your debts have recently been acquired by the Presli Corporation or as we and hopefully you too will come see it as the Presli family. I hope you're excited because soon you will begin your journey as a L.Q.S operator, or a Splasher as we like to call them,” an image of a quadruped appeared on screen wearing some kind of sealed suite with a kind of gun on its back the letters LQS present in large font on the oversized barrel with really resembled a hose more than anything. Out of the barrel shot a kind of liquid at the screen obscuring the image in droplets, “what does that mean you ask? Well you lucky quadrupeds or quads for short will soon have the privilege of traversing the surface of Io, one of the moons of Jupiter,” images of the moon with Jupiter in the background appeared on screen, “and collecting quarts for the Presli Corporation,” images of dazzling quartz encased behind glass appear as men and women in shareholder garb walk around gawking and holding the newly minted quarts, “by spraying the local creatures with our special patented liquid oxygen,” a barrage of alien lifeforms with whipping tentacles, bulbous bodies, and snapping jaws flashed on screen too quick to be memorized but quick enough to send shivers down their spine.

69-J slumped down and curled into a ball, the screen still played explaining something about an incentive structure to pay off their debt quicker, but 69-J wasn’t paying attention. He knew now what his debt buyer expected of him and no amount of cheer or incentive pay could change that. He was going to hunt monsters with a fancy squirt gun.