Eve of Destruction

(Photo: Scott Lewis/CC BY 2.0)

Michael looked at the clock and immediately regretted it. Still almost ten hours to go. He looked through the skylight and saw the moon and the New Moon still hanging low.

Everyone said government-mandated Peakshifts go quicker if you just focus on work. This week’s compulsory labor was night shift, which went by even slower. The 60-minute lunch break was the only good part of the night.

His wristband released another shock. Five milliamps shot up Michael’s arm, causing him to yelp. Jeremy, one of Michael’s old high school classmates, was the lead enforcer on duty. He was usually more sympathetic than the others. Michael waved at him. Jeremy smiled and lumbered over in his direction.

Michael couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s comically large size, shiny bald head, and thick red beard, and think about how he looked like a Gold Rush prospector. Everyone thought Jeremy was a shoo-in for the NFL given his impressive college career, but even after he suffered a career-ending knee injury, Daintree still recruited Jeremy to its enforcer squad. His affable nature and famous reputation allowed him to move up the career ladder quicker than most.

“Twice in five minutes?” Jeremy asked.

“I think my wristband is broken,” Michael pleaded. “I’m packing way more than three a minute.”

Jeremy stood still, thinking.

“I can disable it just for tonight,” Jeremy said. “But don’t tell anyone. This is Flagship, you know how it is.”

"Thanks Jeremy. See you at lunch,” Michael said.

Jeremy typed in Michael’s PeakCitizen designation into his tablet, nodded, and moved down the line.

Wristbands frequently malfunctioned, but workers couldn’t disable them -- only enforcers could. Most didn’t care enough to do anything, but Jeremy and Michael had been friends for 20 years.

As he started his work again, Michael looked at his reflection in the plexiglass cover of his machine. His hair was graying earlier than he thought it should be. Michael chalked it up to the stress surrounding Peakweek, in which all Peakcitizens were required to report to their nearest Daintree facility for mandatory 12-hour shifts, seven days a week. Michael felt privileged to work at Flagship -- Daintree’s corporate headquarters -- given that other facilities were notorious for broken air conditioning, nasty bathrooms, and stricter quotas.

Michael had to process three boxes every 60 seconds. The wristbands, which timed the movement of workers’ hands, were programmed to shock if movements were too slow. If a Peakworker was shocked more than twice in an hour, corporal punishment was authorized. At Flagship, enforcers were frequently encouraged by management to administer corporal punishment, but Jeremy was one of the few who hated it.

Each Daintree Peak box (for Daintree’s highest-paying subscribers) had to be stuffed with small bags of air, so items wouldn’t be damaged in shipping. Michael’s job was to line the insides of boxes with them before closing the flaps and pushing the boxes under the tape applier. Boxes then fell into a bin for Daintree drones to pick up. They then flew to Final Inspection before taking off through the roof of the facility.

Michael got lost in thought. He allowed his gaze to wander to Flagship’s mainframe room, and couldn’t help but marvel at the endless rows of servers through the panes of bulletproof glass. He thought about how the massive computer just 20 feet away from him controlled the Daintree cloud, which was in charge of all Daintree logistics, drones, facilities, and even the New Moon itself. He absentmindedly observed an IT worker pull what looked like a large SIM card out of a metal case, swipe it on the door panel, and walk into the mainframe room. He then inserted the card into a nearby server before sitting in front of a monitor.

Eventually a mechanical voice blared.

“DAINTREE FAMILY. IT IS NOW PEAKBREAK. YOU HAVE SIXTY MINUTES. DO NOT START PEAKBREAK UNTIL YOU HAVE CLOCKED OUT.”

Peakworkers briskly walked away from their workstations and headed toward the breakroom. Michael pressed his wristband to the scanner at the edge of the outer wall, and it flashed from red to green. If the wristband’s panel was still red when a Peakworker entered the breakroom, it would alert enforcers. Not clocking out before Peakbreak was considered a Tier 1 offense.

Michael grabbed the deck of cards out of his lunchbox and headed to his usual table. Glenn, from maintenance; Deshawn, a forklift operator; and Keith, from Final Inspection, played Texas Hold ‘Em, and Jeremy often joined them rather than the other enforcers in their breakroom. Michael would bring the cards, and Jeremy would bring the chips. All five men ate quickly so they could get to the game.

“Alright boys, we got about 43 minutes,” Jeremy said, as he doled out chips to each player. “I just said a prayer to the New Moon and I think tonight’s gonna be my night.”

“Jeremy, you superstitious fool,” Deshawn said with a laugh. “Poker is about skill, not luck. Y’all are about to get smoked.”

“The New Moon is bright tonight, isn’t it?” Keith said.

“I heard the president is hosting the Minhoca family at the PeakHouse next week for the mandatory overtime bill signing, so it’s probably just them moving into orbit.” Glenn said.

“Everyone check?” Michael asked.

The four men nodded. Michael put the flop cards on the table. Jack, ten, seven. Jeremy looked at his hand, and threw in a blue chip.

“500? I’m out,” Keith said, throwing his cards down. “Though I do really want to see what this great big ol’ biggun has in his hand.”

“Pot, meet kettle!” Jeremy said. “You’re just as big as I am.”

“Yeah, but your 350 pounds is all muscle,” Keith said, before patting his belly. “Mine is all fast food.”

The other players called. Michael dealt the turn card. Two of hearts.

“I can’t believe Peakweek is already coming up. I’m still recovering from last year’s,” Michael said.

“No talking about work while on Peakbreak, remember?” Deshawn said.

“Right, right. My bad,” Michael said.

Michael looked at the turn card, and threw in a large pile of chips. Deshawn threw up his hands.

“Why don’t you just tell us you have the straight?” Deshawn said, performatively plopping his cards on the table with so much emphasis his curly hair bounced. “I fold.”

“Six compulsory Peakshifts is already enough for an old timer, let alone seven,” Glenn said resentfully. “Two more years and I can retire. I don’t envy you kids.”

“Bro, what’d I say?” Deshawn snapped.

“Sorry,” Glenn said, adjusting his glasses. He looked at Michael. “You know what? I don’t think you have the 8-9. I call.”

Glenn pushed his chips toward the center of the table.

“Jeremy, you still in?” Michael asked.

Jeremy took out a palm-sized heart-shaped locket out from under his enforcer vest, yanked it off the chain, and kissed it while holding it in his grip.

“Fuck it. I’m in,” Jeremy said, pushing his chips forward. The pot was now a considerable size. “Let’s see that river.”

Michael dropped the river card. Two of clubs.

The players all showed their hands. Glenn had an eight and a nine. Jeremy held a nine and a three. Michael had the two of diamonds and the seven of spades. Michael grinned and dragged the pot toward his other chips.

“A two-seven? Fuck you,” Jeremy said with a wry laugh. “Winning a pot that big with a shit hand like that.”

“I knew there was no way we both had the straight,” Glenn said. “Didn’t count on the full house though.”

“Why’d you bet?” Deshawn asked, pointing at Jeremy’s hand. “You didn’t have shit.”

Jeremy smiled.

“Felt like the river was gonna be an eight.” He looked over at Michael. “That was a bold bet on just a two pair.”

“Well, I figured lucky sevens was a sign,” Michael said.

Suddenly it felt like the air got sucked out of the room. The conversation at the other tables immediately ceased. Michael looked up at the edge of the breakroom. Five enforcers were approaching.

“Yo, who are they here for?” Deshawn whispered. “Not me I hope. I’ve been handling my shit.”

The enforcers surrounded Jeremy. He surreptitiously kicked Michael’s ankle, and Michael felt him place the locket on his lap under the table.

“Come with us. Now. Final Inspection,” one said.

Jeremy sat for a moment with his head down, sighed deeply, then looked up and shrugged.

“I’ll be right back, boys. Probably just someone acting up.”

Jeremy started to walk away with the other enforcers. He looked back at Michael, nodded, and mouthed the words “do it” before turning away.

Keith shook his head.

“Ain’t shit happening in Final Inspection. Never is. At least nothing other enforcers can’t handle.”

“It’s weird they didn’t just radio him, isn’t it?” Michael wondered aloud.

“What’s with that locket anyway?” Keith asked. “Another superstitious thing?”

Michael shrugged.

“He’s worn that locket ever since Eve died last year during Peakweek,” Glenn remarked. “I walked in on him crying in the bathroom once.”

“Forklift accident, right?” Deshawn said. “Heard they dropped a whole skid of pallets on her.”

“And Daintree’s lawyers shut down the lawsuit conversation before it even started,” Keith added.

They all sat silently.

“I gotta piss,” Michael said, getting up.

“15 minutes left until another eight hours,” Glenn said. “Hurry or we’ll start the next hand without you.”

Michael didn’t have to piss. But a little voice in his head told him he had to look inside the locket, and he knew the bathroom was the one place in Flagship without cameras. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Jeremy’s face and his tense tone of voice.

He pulled the bathroom door open, checked to see if anyone was inside, sat in a stall, and locked the door before yanking the locket open.

Inside the locket, there was a small picture of Eve. But there was also a folded note and a large, familiar-looking SIM card that fell out when Michael opened the locket. The note contained instructions.

1. INSERT MAINFRAME KEY.

2. LOAD EVEOFDESTRUCTION.EXE.

3. RUN.

Just as Michael picked up the mainframe key and the note from off the floor, he heard the bathroom door swing open and the sounds of footsteps approaching the stall next to him.

“...I’ve never seen anything like that,” a voice said. The man started urinating. After a long pause, the voice spoke again.

“You’ve got a point. Turning off a wristband with Peakweek coming up is just asking for trouble.”

An enforcer on his radio. Michael listened closer.

“The big boss never comes down from the New Moon unless it’s serious,” the enforcer said, as he flushed. “Wild to think that Chester fucking Minhoca is gonna be here in the flesh.”

The enforcer washed his hands. Michael could still make out what he was saying over the faucet.

“I’m with you, man,” the enforcer said. “Last thing I want is to be chucked into the incinerator for turning off some whiny Peakworker’s wristband.”

The enforcer left. Michael felt horror setting in. Was he talking about Jeremy?

Michael hurriedly walked back into the breakroom. Glenn, Deshawn, and Keith were all playing another hand. Michael sat down.

“Guys, stop.” Michael said. The others noticed the tone of his voice and slowly put their cards down.

“I opened the locket. There’s some kind of SIM card in there with a photo of Eve. And this,” Michael said, putting the note on the table.

“Earlier I asked Jeremy to turn off my wristband because it was malfunctioning. They put him in the incinerator for it.”

The other three men looked visibly shaken.

“No way. There’s just no way,” Glenn whispered. “They wouldn’t do that for a small infraction.”

“I overheard an enforcer in the bathroom. Jeremy was up to something else,” Michael said.

“What?” Deshawn asked.

“Something big enough to scare Chester Minhoca himself into leaving the New Moon.”