by artist Shawn Snow
Doomed.
Doomed, Albert thought to himself, eyeing the morning e_rags, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Sipping it too quickly burning his mouth, hissing his breath back in, trying to cool the burn.
'Banks Collapse' said the headlines on nearly all of the reputable e's. The mutable history of the paperless society, Albert thought. Paper was extremely expensive now, and much coveted by the Class 1's. I might not be a Class 1, Albert thought to himself as he got up and shuffled over to the metal cabinet, catching a blurry glimpse of himself in its brushed metal surface. Atleast a 3-Class though, he thought. His parents had been 3's, 4', and 5's, all decent working nondisruptives who had been data miners, colonizers, and, trashmen. If only my fathers had been mechanics or shield techs. Or even a meteorologist. Think of how wealthy I would be. Donors almost always created care funds for the futures of their donations. And better yet, he would have the genes, he thought to himself.
Yet, for all of his solid 3-Class upbringing Albert was prone to daydreaming. He had traced this gene back through the bank records to atleast half of his parental donors. During his search, Albert had also come across atleast 13 parentals who had a substance problem. Well, Albert thought , that is a relatively low number and shouldn't affect my class ranking. Solid, 3-Class, dependable, a patriot.
Then why, a small grating voice emanated from the deepest part of his mind, have you been selected for Reassignment? When did you get that notice? Friday it must have been. They always Reassign on Fridays so there will be no negative after effects. It was common to read about mishandled firings, ones that happened on Thursdays, or the worst, on Mondays, that resulted in...Albert shuddered. People get Reassigned all the time, Albert thought, sometimes for the better. Some times. Albert's stomach began to hurt from the coffee or maybe from his growing feeling of anxiety.
I guess I just wait for my new assignment. The Placement Office would most likely vid-contact him for retina scan, drug test, real age exam, etc. And then, a new assignment. No problem. Albert was in perfect health no need to worry. Except if I missed something in my search...Albert shut off that line of thought. Still, a bad time to be fired given all this economic instability.
Albert drew back the shade just enough to look out over the gigantic housing towers. The sun already seared them in a bright orange glow. This is my favorite time Albert thought. Early in the morning and late at night. The times when the world slept or dreamt. Times before other people clog up the world with all their noise and needs.
Getting a headache, Albert thought to himself. Better take something. He got up and went into the lavatory, sliding the clunky metal door open. Albert stood at the sink and peered into the mirror.
"I've got a headache," Albert said matter of factly to the mirror, "And I'm a bit anxious about my Reassignment." Suddenly the mirror blinked to life and displayed a a field of flowers in a high mountain meadow. Albert had chosen this as one of his favorite images for mood control. A calm voice modeled from a dozen of the finest movie stars answered.
"I'm sorry to hear that Al." Muzak began to play over the field. "Let's see, as a 3-Class you are approved for most mood stabilizers and some light synth-narcs." Albert already was feeling more relaxed. "As your doctor I prescribe you a custom blend, called e23." A receipt printed from a small slit under the mirror console.
"Never heard of it."
"It'll help during this time of transition. As they say, one must do what one must do. Have a great day Al." The monitor image of the field slowly faded.
Albert looked down at the receipt with it's barcoded prescription and walked over to the dressing area and put on his same uniform from Friday. "Clothes make the man." Albert said absently to no one and began to walk out the hatch to head to the Pharma unit in Plaza 1.
