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Celestial Automation

  Damian Foyle

  Copyright 2012 Damian Foyle

  Chapter 01

  It was a tiny room, slightly larger than a holding cell and crammed to its limits with workers having their lunch. The air inside was stuffy and smelled of hard work and recycled oil. What left of the human work-force in the factory were all seated around a simple wooden table that took up most of the precious space.

  All of us except one were lost in a lively discussion and the mood was volatile. The silent member of our little group simply rested a bony elbow on the table and played with her food. I envied her.

  "You've got to do something, Keith. You're our representative. Do your job dammit! Or do we need to hire a tin man for that too?" Mark, a burly man, said.

  He had his arms wide open to back up his point as if it was needed. The huge bulk of the man was more than enough to support any idea known to Men. His hands, callus riddled shovels, almost touched the walls on both sides. Green and white colored, tasteless tiles adorning the wall seemed to shrink away from his touch.

  "I mean, look where they make us eat lunch now."

  As a representative I couldn't just walk up to the manager's office and complain about these trivial things. Now, that was a sure way to get fired. No sir! Nobody wanted to be fired, especially not in these times. Yet, I couldn't help but agree with everything the old lathe operator said. I was 5 feet tall at best and weighed about 110 pounds. I couldn't back up an idea even if my life depended on it.

  Still, I did my best.

  "Now, now. It's not that bad, Mark," I tried to say. "I admit it's a bit small but-"

  "Not that bad? Can you believe this guy? Look around, man! We're eating lunch in the women's loo."

  "You know as well as I do that they had to turn the mess hall into charging station. And there is hardly any woman left in the factory."

  A polite cough interrupted me then. She was almost invisible among us rowdy workers. She looked at me with an eyebrow raised.

  "Come on, Maggie. You're one of the boys now. Even the manager says so. What was I saying? Ah yes. Now wouldn't it be a waste of space not turning the women's lavatory into cafeteria?"

  I stopped for a second to let that bit of wisdom sink in.

  "Inefficient and all, after all." I mimicked the manager's own words. One of the workers gave a loud snort.

  Mark wouldn't be budged.

  "Don't you start giving that crap to us, Keith! You're supposed to be one of us. There is still a toilet here for heaven's sake," he said and pointed to the toilet seat he was sitting on. It looked small and rather unimportant to me.

  "Dammit! I'm late for my shift. Do something, or we will find a new representative."

  I watched the man storm out of the room and turned my gaze to the toilet. I blinked. "I talked to the cleaning robot," I tried to explain to the others. "It said the toilet was clean enough to eat off."

  I didn't understand why a single toilet was causing so much trouble. Maggie, silent as always, just shook her head and left. I stayed and thought about a way to get this problem go away or to take myself out of the equation.

  "Now, I admit they could do something about the smell." I sniffed and said aloud to the empty room, and left to join others in the shift.

  Chapter 02

  "Keith Marksman," the voice announced seconds before the end of my shift. "You're expected in the manager's office."

  My shoulders slumped in defeat. Was it just too much to ask for a day of peaceful and mind-numbingly repetitive day at work? It seemed like everybody had a bone to pick with me that day.

  I took off the heavy duty gloves, and dropped them to the floor. It caused a weak spark of rebellion in me to see them fell in a pool of oil. It was abruptly put out by my own hands betraying me. I picked them up, cleaned them and pushed them into the back pocket of my overall.

  To reach the office, I had to go through a small maze of machinery on the factory floor; pass the assembly line, turn left at the machining center –ignore Mark shouting something behind me, another left, then right at the welding station, and- robotic arms and manipulators blocked my way.

  I let out a tired sigh and got down on my hands and knees. I went under the mechanical arms moving and working with precise movements regardless of human existence around them, and through the pool of oil lying just under the machinery.

  After what seemed like hours, I was at the stairs without any other major incidents, except the new patch of oil stains on my overall and the brand new bruise on my ego.

  I curiously peeked into the manager's room; it was empty. I entered, sat on a chair and waited in a way that I assumed was respectful; with hands folded on my lap, and staring at a fixed point on the wall behind the desk.

  The spot I was staring at came alive with a red light, and a voice followed; one that I heard many times before. All the robots and computer terminals inside the factory spoke with that same dull, mechanic and teeth-grinding voice. It was yet another one of those small inconveniences the remaining human workers, all six of us, had to suffer.

  I shifted my gaze and waited.

  "As you can see Mr. Marksman, the company has decided to let Mr. Morrison go. From now on I, ManageBOT325, will undertake his duties. The reason I asked you here is my sensors show that there is a 1.2% decrease in the output this shift. It's unacceptable, Mr. Marksman. As the representative of the human work force, you're expected to motivate the workers. Are you failing in your duties?"

  "No- no, sir," I managed to say.

  I had a very different idea about the reality of being a representative. My job was to keep my head down and survive as long as possible.

  "It's just that, the recent changes regarding the mess hall de-motivated the workers."

  "I don't understand. Is the new room allocated for this purpose too small for the activity?"

  "The size isn't the main problem, sir. It's the location. You see, the old lavatory was converted to lunch room."

  "And?"

  "There is still a toilet in there, sir."

  There was an uncomfortable silence as the computer searched through the database and the records.

  "I'm sure it wouldn't cause any health problems. The factory cleaning crew assures me that it's clean," it finally said, putting an end to the discussion.

  "Um- yes, sir." I felt compelled to agree with ManageBOT325.

  I smiled weakly and it left a rotting feeling in my mouth.

  "Nonetheless, it's no excuse for the decrease in efficiency. The resulting loss of income will be deducted from the following workers' monthly payments," it said and the printer suddenly came alive, spilling out the names of the unfortunate workers.

  "That is all." ManageBOT325 simply dismissed me.

  Chapter 03

  It wasn't anything majestic, my house; a simple, painted white front with a red door and window frames facing a lawn with dying grass and a single tree with roots that couldn't support its own weight anymore, declining against the guest bedroom window slowly but surely as death itself. The look suited me; it was something past its prime.

  Inside was better, tidier and very unlike me. It was all Emily. Everything was covered with laced table clothes, covers and what-not. The whole house was frothing around the mouth like a lunatic. A narrow hallway led to the kitchen, the living room, guest room and finally to the stairs where the lace ruled the night.

  I opened the door and stepped into the hallway to find my luggage blocking my way, filled to the brim –it was in mortal danger of bursting at the seams, and the cat that always smelled like wet coats waiting for me.

  They were taking up most of the precious space in the hallway. Mr. Biggles gave me a hearty hiss as a
welcome and jumped on the luggage, which promptly made the old thing open and half of my wardrobe spilled out on the floor.

  "Honey!" I called out, trying to ignore the situation. Frankly, the cat with its smell, the missing ear and nasty habits, scared me. "I'm home."

  A mouth salivating smell was spreading into the hallway from the kitchen where my wife kept humming and singing. She seemed to be in one of her good moods and it made me nervous. This wasn't a usual scene from the Marksman household. I wished for a desperate moment, she was out here in hallway, shouting at me for no apparent reason.

  I jumped over the clothes and walked into the kitchen, my brain not even acknowledging the robot sitting in my usual chair at kitchen table. Mr. Biggles followed me inside, and casually started pissing on my shoes, which was also lost under the heavy fog of denial. I kindly nudged the cat away with one wet shoe.

  At that certain chapter in my life, I was a man ordinary to the point of extreme. You could not find a single sharp edge on me. Not anymore, no sir. The people in my life were the grinding stones that shaped me, and each obstacle I failed and hit headfirst was another nail in my coffin. I was drowning in self pity and didn't even notice it.

  But under all these circumstances, I had developed something unusual, something that was able to save a part of me; an uncanny talent for ignoring uncomfortable situations.

  That was how I stayed sane.

  It was like this; even if I didn't realize it then, my brain –an experienced partner-in-crime, was fully aware that something was terribly wrong, and it went into overdrive trying to filter the world outside. As a result, it left very little processing power for the other functions of the body, talking being the first among many. Comprehension skills were also high up in that list.

  "Honey, I'm home," I repeated. "How was your day?"

  She smiled at me. The signs were going red all over my brain.

  "It was great, actually," she said. "Your luggage is in the hallway. I packed most of your stuff."

  "Uhm- am I going somewhere?"

  "Yes. Probably to a hotel, but it's up to you of course. And please take the damn cat with you." She put down two plates on the table, one full with steaming food and the other empty.

  Even my extraordinary coping mechanism had its limits. One of the spoons seemed to be flying for a moment, and then it all came down on me, rushing like the waters of a dam just broke in half. I stared at the robot sitting in my chair at the table.

  "What?" I managed to say pointing at the robot. I realized my hands were shaking wildly and somehow I smelled of something unpleasant.

  The robot took the empty spoon to the speaker unit attached to its face. "Yummy! The food is delicious, honey," it droned on.

  My wife reached and tapped the robot on one metal leg, very close to a place I would rather ignore. "I hope you like it, hon," she said and turned to me.

  I was looking at her, then at the robot and then back at her with eyes wide and my jaw practically on the floor.

  "You can stay in the guest room tonight, but I want you gone tomorrow," she continued.

  "What?" I said.

  Something was finally breaking inside me, and what came through the cracks were flat-out ugly. But I was just too damn tired to care.

  "Ah! How rude of me. Keith, meet uhm-what did I name you? Yes, John. Oh yes... meet John, he is my new husband."

  I looked around the kitchen, at all those sharp and potentially deadly objects around me, knives, forks and glasses all over; things that can be stabbed and things that can cut. Images flashed in my brain, blood and guts filling my vision. They suppressed the good memories we had; and yes, we had some. It wasn't always like this. We had our good moments once, and I wasn't gone so deep that I didn't notice we were growing apart recently. I had simply decided to ignore it, thinking it was just another phase of the marriage. I certainly didn't expect this to happen.

  I blinked those thoughts away. It was just too much, too messy. On the other hand, oil, cables and metal parts lying on the kitchen floor seemed just about right. I just needed something heavy, a hammer or perhaps a pipe wrench. Oh, a pipe wrench would be great, I decided; heavy at the end and with a good swing.

  "Nice to meet you, John," I said smiling, lost in my little dream of destruction.

  By the time I was set in the guest room, my brain was back in business, merrily filtering the world away. I pulled the blanket up to my neck and closed my eyes. I pretended I didn't hear my wife laughing, something she hadn't done with me for years. I was suddenly feeling sleepy when heavy footsteps followed her to the upstairs. And I was out cold before I could reach the limit of my ability once again.

 

  Chapter 04

  I soon learned a bachelor's life was a messy one, especially if you spent some of the nights in your car. I had tried and tried, yet my clothes still reeked of cat piss. Inside the small confession room was heavy with the smell of piss, perfume and sweat. The priest on the other side had closed the lid between us almost fully after taking a sniff of the air coming through. I didn't blame him.

  "Forgive me, Father um-" I started, trying to remember how it went. "for I've sinned. It's been um- 3 months since my last confession." I lied.

  I was glad nobody could see my face going red with shame. I clasped my hands tightly over my lap.

  "What troubles you, my son?" The priest replied and added with a low voice. "...except rolling around in your own piss."

  "I've planned to kill my wife, Father. But I couldn't go through with it."

  "Good, my son. We shall not succumb to the sin-"

  "... so, I killed her new husband," I interrupted the priest. I smiled into the dark room with the memories coming to me.

  There was a long silence and the priest finally found the strength to talk. "What?"

  "I waited for her to leave the house. Then I picked up a pipe wrench and smashed him to pieces. I jumped on the pieces, and then I sold whatever remained to a junk dealer."

  "Son... are you drunk?"

  "No, father. I'm perfectly sober, but I wish I was high or at least drunk. I lost my job at the factory, because it's all automated now and much more efficient," I said angry at the opportunities missed. The factory had so many different types of pipe wrenches and too many robots. Getting fired by a faceless piece of machinery still stung badly.

  "My cat has a nasty habit of pissing all over my clothes. My wife left me for a piece of machine, and now she's screwing yet another sexbot."

  The priest tried hard to stifle the laugh. "I'm sorry. Di- did you say a sexbot?"

  I found myself thinking about punching a priest and its ramifications. It wouldn't the first time.

  "Yes." I sighed. "I've been replaced by those damn robots in almost everything I can do. Tell me, father. What should I do? I mean, I'm at the end of my rope."

  "Oh, hell, son!" He said very unpriestly after a long pause. "I don't have any answer for that. All we can do is to have faith, and hope that things will turn out okay in the end. You must pray for guidance."

  I was silent as the priest prayed. I went through the motions.

  "Thank you, Father," I finally said and left the small cabin.

  I had realized I needed someone higher up in the food chain, if I was ever to get a celestial answer. I walked to the cross dominating a corner of the church. I lit a candle and kneeled. Then I prayed long and I prayed hard as Jesus stared down at me from his uncomfortable place.

  But there was no answer.

  Confident that I wouldn't get any answer from up there either, I got up on my feet after ten minutes of praying and begging. My knees were aching and stiff. My back hurt and cracked like a gunshot when I straightened.

  A voice boomed in the church, just before I was about to turn and leave.

  "My child," it said. "I forgive your sins."

  I looked up, not knowing what I was expecting to see. "God?" I said sheepishly.

  "No, my child," the voice said. I
saw the speakers attached to the cross, next to Jesus' face. "God is unavailable at the moment. I'm currently undertaking his duties on a regular basis."

  The voice was eerily familiar. I realized that the voice I had been hearing for years in the factory would sound just like that at high volume with a good amount of echo and "holiness".

  My whole body shook with the realization and a violent twitch started to form on my face. I desperately wished I had my wrench with me. My hand tightened into a fist around the imaginary pipe wrench.

  The voice continued unaware of my current mental state. "We went through your records and calculated a 57% chance of you going to Heaven according to the church's standards. You can get a printed account of this calculation -including available data on your sins, and a suggested course of action to increase your chance of going to Heaven."

  Somewhere in the church, a printer started pushing out my sins and good deeds.

  "Thank you for your time and have a nice day." It finished cheerfully, and a religious hymn started playing through the speakers.

  "Fancy, isn't it?" The priest asked nervously as I passed him.

  Ignoring him, I opened the church doors and stepped into the broad daylight. I let go of the print-out. The wind caught the papers and they took off the ground like an unruly flock of birds. They were hurled away in an instant.

  I strolled down the stairs and into the church's garden. Once I was there, I picked up the heaviest stone I could carry and headed back into the church with confident steps. I could hear the priest talking, but the words didn't really reach to me.

  I started running towards the cross with the stone held high up over my head.

  "To Hell with that 57 percent chance!" I shouted, and laughed.

 

  Chapter 05

  I sat on the stairs outside the church, lit a cigarette and waited for the cops to arrive.

  "Have a nice d-d-day! Have a n-nice d-day," the voice came muffled through the closed and barricaded doors of the church. It was caught in a loop.

  The sun was almost lost behind the cityscape, giving the sky and the clouds a reddish hue. I exhaled the smoke and watched it ascend and scatter. It was a pleasant way to end the day.

  There were no cops. Instead, a security droid rolled in loud and fast. It announced my name, telling me to get on my knees. I stood up. I took one last breath of smoke and flicked the cigarette away.