Rex Caleval lives in Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada, where he spent twenty years as an air traffic controller. Always an avid reader with story ideas popping into his head, he decided to try writing a few, and has been pleased to find that some people like them. His stories have been published by or are upcoming in Every Day Fiction, Antipodean SF and Medusa’s Laugh.
Let
It Ride
“Are you Hawkins?” asked the skinny young man.
The older man at the vending machine sighed. “Let me guess. You just joined up, and you want to know how I’ve survived six resets. I must have inside information or know some trick. Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve just gotten lucky. What you’ve heard is true. By taking this job, you accept that it’ll kill you. You just last as long as you can to get more for whoever you’re leaving behind.”
The young man flinched. “No, that’s not it. According to the bulletin board, I’m your partner. Well, your new partner, I guess. My name’s Crawford.”
Hawkins looked surprised. “Oh, okay. Sorry I snapped at you. Getting the same questions over and over gets frustrating, especially since I don’t have the answers any more than the next guy. Is this your first time?”
“Yeah. There’s just no other jobs to be had, and my wife and kid…well, you’ve probably heard it before. It’s how most end up here, I guess.” Crawford looked around. “I didn’t know so many people were this desperate.”
“Well, this is orientation, so both shifts are here. Plus, it’ll start thinning out pretty fast as people drop out. Come on, let’s get our starting assignment.” Hawkins turned toward the desk at the front of the room.
Crawford looked at the vending machine. “Weren’t you getting something?”
“No, I was just curious how much the prices went up this time.”
Crawford looked confused but joined the older man in the line. When they reached the front, the woman behind the desk asked, “Names?”
“Hawkins and Crawford.”
The clerk shuffled through some papers. “Right. Here’s your first duty sheet. Do you have your required uniform, equipment belt, boots and ID badge, or do you need to purchase them?”
“I’m wearing mine,” replied Hawkins. “My partner here will need them, right?” Crawford nodded.
“Very well,” the clerk said. “This form gives your consent to have the costs deducted from your pay. It also requires you to continue your employment until these costs and any other outstanding amounts you may accrue are repaid. Sign at the bottom and initial beside each amount.” The monotone delivery showed that the same speech had been given many times.
Crawford leaned forward to sign, then looked up. “But this is more than we’ll make on our whole first pay. Nobody said anything about needing…”
The clerk interrupted, sounding tired. “These items are a workplace requirement. If you do not wish to purchase them, you are free to decline employment.”
Hawkins said quietly, “A reset within a week of the previous one has only ever happened a couple of times. You may as well take the stuff. Then if you drop out early you’ll have it for next time. Just my opinion.”
“Makes sense,” said Crawford. He signed the papers.
The clerk stamped them and handed over a copy. “Proceed through the marked door to receive your items. Welcome to Vigilance Corrections. Next, please.”
Crawford trudged toward the door. “I didn’t know we’d get charged for this stuff.”
“Get used to it,” said Hawkins. “That’s how this whole thing is set up. They’ll ding you every chance they get. Uniforms, gear, medicals, pay lockers, vending machines. That way you have to work longer and take more chances. It’s like the old company towns, way back in the railroad and mining days. All part of the plan.” His voice had a bitter edge.
“What do you mean? What plan?”
“Everyone thinks resets are to solve prison overcrowding. But they’re also designed to work on unemployment and poverty. People got sick of paying taxes to have criminals sit around forever, especially when they just kept on causing problems even in prison, so the idea of getting rid of them became easy to sell. But the politicians back then got the clever idea of tacking on more. If you’re going to get rid of the inmates when they cause trouble, why not also thin out the poor who had to take the guard jobs? It’s just collateral damage. Then you have empty prison slots, fewer poor people, and freshly opened jobs for the unemployed. It became a cycle that the masses got used to, so now it just takes a token attempt to dress it up.”
Crawford looked shocked. “That can’t be true. People wouldn’t accept it.”
“They don’t have to see it. We sign up voluntarily. We can quit anytime we want. Not many people know that if we quit twice, we don’t get rehired. And like you said, there’s no other jobs, not here at the bottom. Not many know all the costs they stick us with, or that we’re forced to stay until they’re repaid. That the pay is nothing at first, and only the death benefit is really worth anything. That we can’t get out once a reset starts. Not many know, because they don’t want to. That’s how it is. Two shifts, so a fifty-fifty chance you’re on duty when it happens. A coin flip, and let it ride until you lose. Or quit, and have your family lose with you, homeless and starving.” Hawkins seemed to deflate. “Let’s get to work. First day is always sweeping detail.”
They picked up brooms as they went through the equipment room and out into the steel and concrete of the empty cell blocks. “How can there be so much dust?” asked Crawford. “The whole place seals up, doesn’t it?”
“That’s why,” replied Hawkins. “Inmates start trouble, and the warden hits the reset button. Seal up, gas, and heat. Pyrolytic, like a self-cleaning oven. This dust is the last group of inmates and guards. It’ll be us, soon enough.”
Crawford looked sick. “My God…”
“Come on, let’s get to it. If we’re lucky, we can make enough first to keep our kids from having to join up.” Hawkins started sweeping.
Choking down bile, Crawford joined him.