Timeshare

Valdez was pulling so much OT he hadn't seen the sun in a month. Not that you could see anything through the smoky firmament which hung permanent across the sky like dirty cotton. But even a sagging horizon was better than the monolithic roofscape, stretching so far you forgot you were inside.

The survivors of the bankrupted city, ravaged by economic meltdown, had first welcomed M-Mart like the arrival of the messiah. 

Where the failing municipal government had only seen a depleted locust husk—unemployed masses squatting within its blocks and blocks of abandoned real estate—M-Mart saw opportunity. 

M-Mart took the lot, absorbed the homeless masses, Valdez and his family among them, and skilled up their new resident workforce. Consolidation City. SolCiti. The pumping heart of the world's supply and demand chain, arteries branching out to every corner of the earth, sea and low-orbit thermosphere.

Valdez was free to leave any time, like all M-Mart contractors, if he could think of anything. Blame the narrowing of possibilities on a lack of imagination. 

His father always said: you might not like 'em, but you always got options. And he believed it until he died mid-fulfilment. M-Mart covered the old man’s funeral with an interest-free loan.

Valdez sat in siddhassana pose at his ergonomic station, consolidating customer dreams. He used mindfulness practice to excise the need for bodily functions. Around his island workspace, soaring cylindrical columns on robotic bassinets, filled with endless inventory, constantly reconfigured through algorithmic calculation, reshaped the city landscape.

Valdez's hands moved with the refined Qigong flow the ever-evolving quota demanded. For now, he appeased the eye scanner tracking the frequency of retinal distractions, calculating pack-time benchmarks. 

Three strikes, you're gone, out of SolCiti. Talking in the isle, prolonged toilet breaks. It all went on your record. If Valdez struck out, there was no second act. Even if he somehow cheated a med screen for another job, there was the neuro screen. A converted MRI sent a probe signal between neurons, testing transmission speed like a copper wire measures conductivity.

The workers who manned the islands around Valdez shifted along with the environment. He knew better than to get too comfortable. The sudden unexplained disappearance of a familiar face was more effective than any productivity measure, reaffirming the impermanence of all life within its ecosystem.

‘What?' Sancho had once hollered from a neighbouring island while showing his son the ropes. 'Little princess too good to work?'

M-Mart encouraged working alongside loved ones. Bloodlines barracked together. One generation passing skills to the next in unbroken descendancy. Valdez knew one thing: his trade died with him.

Sancho and his son were long gone. The only way on the line was a failure, of sorts, to do anything else; and failure was the only way off. Failure or death—which, in the end, were much the same.

Valdez didn't know if he was much of a father; he barely saw the kid. She grew up so quickly between birthdays. He had a lot to answer for. Like all that junk in his blood a gen screen wouldn’t miss. Family history of diabetes, heart disease, depression. Bunk genetics making his bloodline more liability than asset on most cost-benefit matrices. The past inextricably woven through DNA, shaping the trajectory of the future.

So Valdez gave his daughter the only thing he could of himself: OT. As far as he was concerned, even on the verge of burnout, every extra hour he worked the line was another his daughter didn't. If she maintained her grades, she could get into M-Mart tuition-free university. Graduate as a documentary filmmaker for marketing, maybe even a neuro-psychologist at HR screening. 

~

The gift receipt machine on Valdez’s bench rattled like a .50 Gatling gun, spitting out messages. HAPPY 50th ANNIVERSARY. Valdez tore the perforation, packed each card with the order. CONGRATS ON THE BABY. Popping boxes like origami cranes, lining the inside with brown paper dunnage. 

CONDOLENCES ON YOUR LOSS.

He often ordered Mrs Valdez loving packages. Little things: heart-shaped locket, raspberry chocolate, teddy bear.

They met at work. Young interns working the same conveyor belt, before he got promoted from box-taping. She worked the other side of SolCiti, a forty-five-minute railcar ride away. Sending her packages from his island, like little messages in a bottle, he might as well be working FIFO on a lunar colony.

MISS YOU.

A decade on, Valdez was still working off the wedding with PayLatr. Company subsidized moments with interest-free loans, paid off through work credit. Shelter, life-saving operations, college, funerals. M-Mart R&D lab demonstrated a clear link between happiness quotient and productivity.

He could count the nights they had together. Spare moments were easier to recall in the smallest detail. Too few, but fine enough to weave through his mind to stop it fraying. He'd peel himself away from her in the morning. The affection softened him in ways he couldn't afford. Separation was often more agonizing than love could ever consol.

BE HOME SOON.

Until then, they connected through consolidations.

Valdez's watch trilled. It monitored vitals, step count, exertion level, sleep quality. He read the slick readout. 

ZEN OUT ON US! 15mins of assigned R&R.

Deep analysis of watch data calculated the optimal time to recharge the soul and other devices. With the watch synced to his workspace, the station powered down automatically. Valdez couldn't work through R&R if he wanted, conveyer belt halting mid-order, chair rotating him away. 

Company research revealed overwhelmingly: happy worker is a good worker. 

The holistic centre was a six-minute walk. It took at least a couple minutes for security clearance to check for stolen goods. If Valdez was to make it back to his station in time without affecting his productivity, it left only a minute of deep meditation time to get his blood pressure anywhere near baseline.

The massive stock shelves, moving like giant ships, reshaped the map, rendering a constant sense of deja vu despite the surroundings never settling long enough to be familiar. Valdez dropped himself a pin, a digital breadcrumb trail to make sure he could find his way back.

He spotted a ZenPod, a portable retreat resembling a blacked-out phonebooth, rolling around the corner. Valdez raced another co-worker for it. The other man moved with a slight limp, and Valdez overtook him with ease.

Valdez locked himself inside, shutting out the raw churn of machinery that gave some measure to its reach.

Lavender lights dimmed to ambient tea-candle setting. A dispenser sprayed synthetic sandalwood while default "water feature" played. "Ocean sound" cost extra. He couldn't change settings without upgrading to premium. Valdez bowed; the screen flickered to life, welcoming him by his name in Katakana. 

The first five minutes were gratis. Collapsing on the stool, he used OT for an extra five. 

The screen prompted him to make a selection from a bank of thousands of mindfulness videos. Exclusive meditations made in collaboration with top-spiritual guides. Their best-selling books, available through the cart. 

Valdez mashed the screen, selecting at random.

PICTURE A YELLOW BALL OF ENERGY. BREATH IN SOOTHING WARM LIGHT. EXHALE NEGATIVE THOUGHTS AS BLACK SMOKE.

Valdez just wanted to close his eyes and rest for a moment. The scanner analyzed his posture, sensed resistance, guided him into a more mindful position. 

LET LOVING ENERGY FLOW FROM YOUR FINGERS AS YOU RELEASE FULFILMENT ORDERS INTO THE UNIVERSE. 

Without premium subscription, meditation was quota focused. Valdez practiced gratitudes.

FULFILMENTS CONNECT US IN WAYS WE CAN'T EVEN CALCULATE.

Valdez breathed in, breathed out.

HELPING OTHERS HEALS YOU.

Valdez thought of his daughter, his wife. He managed to relax when the commercial came on:

FEEL SAND BENEATH YOUR FEET

LISTEN TO THE CRASH OF THE SURF

SWIM IN POLLUTANT FREE WATER

RELOCATE NOW!

TRANSFER TO M-MART NEW BRANCH

"Ocean sound" and scent filled the pod. Valdez had never seen the sea before; he had barely been out of SolCiti. His eyes flickered, movement small enough for the retina scanner to pick up.

The seascape cut out as a dial tone rang over the speaker, connecting him with an M-Mart recruitment officer. 'Congratulations, Mr Valdez,' said the voice. 'You've taken the first step to changing your life.'

'I didn't mean to call. My eyes just opened.'

'Your body called. Tell me it doesn't need out. Tell me you don't want to see a blue sky again. And grass. Real grass. Hang up now.'

Valdez could feel the phantom tremors of the conveyer vibrating through him like a tuning fork. He stayed on the line. He listened to the man's voice like it was a seashell placed to his ear.

'M-Mart is breaking ground here. Man of your experience--get in while you can.'

'But I can’t relocate my family?' Valdez confirmed. 

'How much are you seeing them now? Birthdays?'

Valdez might as well be in the low-orbit thermosphere.

'Then why not make some real money? And we have a correspondence program. Cutting edge tech. You'll always be in contact,' said the recruitment officer.

Resin dripped from every word.

'Things are just better back then. Highest remuneration in history. That's where it peaked: downward slope every decade since. They call it the good old days for a reason. Ask your folks: 60s were the golden days of empire.'

The warning light came on in the ZenPod. Two minutes. 

'Think of Fran. Think of Maggie. Don't you want a better future for your family?'

Valdez didn't bother asking how the voice had names. He thought of his family. He thought of his outstanding PayLatr balance.

'Ok.'

The screen went opaque, and a stylus pen whirred out. Valdez signed the tablet. The line cut out abruptly. 

'Hello?'

"Water feature" resumed. An electronic voice, coded feminine, spoke:

Your transfer has been forwarded to management. You have 10 minutes to arrive at the docking bay 3A or forfeit ride.

'Can I call my wife?'

The voice repeated the transmission.

Valdez sent a voice message. Told his wife he'd explain everything when he disembarked in 1962.

                             ~

Valdez saw the sky again. He witnessed the flood of time itinerate workers, pooling in shantytowns under bridges, ready to work for peanuts. Mass unemployment from time congestion. It made Valdez grateful for his contract, renewed monthly if he made quota.

The itinerates had been sold penny stocks by boiler room brokers, promised new lives through timeshare opportunities. 

And the marketplace responded. 

M-Mart built Sol-Citi2, the company's inception unfolding earlier and earlier, chasing demand into history.

As each epoch sapped the precious minerals of its own time, stopping only when it heard the sound of the straw hitting the bottom of the thickshake, it looked to the resources of the past for answers. 

Every period faced the reality of compounding depletion to its remaining materials, fracked dry from both ends: the past and the future. 

                                 ~

Valdez saw the note on his station. He would send messages from his island, knowing it would be months until he'd hear back. They often read the same, but Valdez treasured every character of the short transmission.

He tore open the envelope. 

MISS YOU.

He felt deep reservoirs of love that must be left unsaid in the kerning.

It was easy enough writing her: leave a handwritten letter in a security deposit box and let time deliver it. The other way was more expensive than a telegram to Mars. After Valdez's income was adjusted for inflation, it didn't leave much. So Valdez became something of a man of letters.

He never knew what to say, she was the poet, so both were reduced to efficient transmissions of latent longing.

Valdez read on:

SEE YOU SOON.

Even with Valdez’s new position, there was no way they could ever save enough to consolidate that dream.

MAGGIE FINISHED VALEDICTORIAN. GRADE POINT AVERAGE > SPOT AT M-UNI.

That meant a high-level company position with real earning potential.

WE CAN HOLIDAY OR RELOCATE AFTER GRAD XXX

That was only ten years. Valdez practised gratitudes until his watch trilled.