My name is Kevin Jackson. I am the third man in my family to carry that name. It used to mean something on this ship, but it doesn't hold much weight anymore. My grandfather was the President of Security, my father had a doctorate in human physiology and was the Vice President of Operations. I, on the other hand, simply work the cash register at Main Street Electronics.
As I stare up at the clock, I can't help but think about what time it would be right now if we didn't use a system based on the rotations of a planet that is who knows how many light-years away. All this adherence to a foreign culture that none of us know about first-hand really annoys me at times. Our experiences should be our own, not that of some people on a swamp-covered ball in a galaxy named after cow juice that no one here has ever set foot upon, let alone visited.
If I didn't need the money, I would gladly quit my job. I am really sick of having to deal with people complaining about the most mind-numbingly inane things, such as the lack of colors available on our line of robot puppies. The people on this ship are so obsessed with emulating everything from the planet our ancestors left behind, but they still end up asking for replications of pets in crazy colors that never existed. When we had to study Earth history in upper form, I don't remember seeing anything about phlox poodles, but I get dozens of requests for pets in insane shades like that every day.
"Ugh, finally", I think to myself. Oh-seventeen-hundred hours on the tick. It will be a relief to leave this madhouse and get home to my wife and sons. I can not express just how glad I am that my son Jonathan put in the request to authorize my use of the operations staff corridors. I'm even more pleased that our last President of Operations approved it. It's so much quicker to go through the staff corridor just outside of Main Street than it is to walk to the housing district directly. In my case, it's not merely a matter of favoritism over the fact that my sons are part of the operations staff on this ship. An accident at my old job left me as half of the man I once was, literally.
I used to work as a digital component programmer in a simulated sawmill that was located in the ship's artificial re-creation of the Scottish Highlands back on Earth. It was a great job until the electronics on the saw arm malfunctioned and I lost my lower limbs in an excruciating minute that felt like an eternity. The audit of the accident showed that the machine's processor was faulty. As it was a hardware issue rather than a software one, the Treasurer of the Scottish Highlands, Angus Loughty, authorized complete payment for my hospital stay and rehabilitation, as well as for the robotic appendages I would come to possess.
My recovery was not enjoyable, not that you could ever call staying in a hospital after losing limbs fun. The recovery was slow and painful. On top of that, hospital food is always bland and somehow even seems just as sterile as its rooms. The only thing that kept my mind sane during the month I was forced to live in the Highlands Hospital was the regular visits by my family. I highly doubt I would have made it through the ordeal without them. My mind was not in a good place, which I suppose is to be expected when you lose half of what makes you you.
There is but a single bright side to that ordeal. My pension will still grow as long as I work, even if it is not at the sawmill. That was music to my ears, as I got as far away from that God-forsaken piece of artificial land as soon as I could. I moved with my wife and infant sons from a simulated Earth location to another location that is original to our vessel. We left our residence in the artificial Scottish Highlands to reside in the residential living quarters in Adventuressia. The only part of this place that is a simulated location is its Main Street, which is based on those that used to be found in the Earth's United States of America, centuries before our ancestors took off into space onboard the Cooperation.
My sons are now grown men, but my entire family still lives off Main Street. However, we're now in a much more convenient location. It is nice here, since, due to the fact that my sons are officers on this ship, we're allowed to live in the living quarters inside the area reserved for senior operations staff members. Plus, now with my access to the staff corridors, I can leave work and go straight home.
Our sons have their own living quarters, separate from my wife and me, but our family is still together. The three spacious living quarters, each with their own toilet area and shower, are combined with a kitchen and a living room in a structure that has the facade of a domicile designed following Victorian-era architectural norms back on Earth. It bothers me a bit, but I certainly can't fault it for its location.
Even as a juvenile, I was a genius when it comes to programming. So, as you can imagine, living on a ship sailing through space meant that I had my pick of careers. By the time I reached adulthood, I didn't want my life to be determined by the career path of my father and grandfather, so I went against their wishes and took a job outside of operations or politics. That was the biggest mistake of my life.
I chose the Scottish Highlands simulation because I thought it was so beautiful and lush with vegetation. After the accident, all that I can do is look at it and see nothing but its simulated components, and I can't help but see that even its existence is artificial. It attempts to mimic something so precisely that no one on this ship has ever actually seen. Everyone on board this ship only has an inkling of what Earth really looked like due to the digital archives created centuries ago by our ancestors.
To be honest, I can't help but see every part of the ship that way now, as I feel that we can be so much more if we forge our own path in architecture and design instead of using designs created by people who died ages ago. The Main Street location allows me to remain close to my sons, who are now both officers on this ship, so I don't let anyone else know about my inner thoughts. I grin and bear it, as my family is more important to me than anything else.
When I finally leave work, on the way to the elevator, I walk past the pathetic attempt to recreate the stone, gravel, and sand that made up the faux-asphalt in our simulated, sanitized, 20th-century America-inspired downtown facade. Our ship's depiction of Main Street is so far off from the virtual augmented reality simulations that we viewed in school.
The real downtown districts from that time period had real character, style, and a sense of being that we sorely lack. The real, unfiltered, storefronts of Earth sold similar items to our stores, but the owners weren't afraid to show the dirt, grime, and decay that naturally occurred on the planet over the decades. They were actually proud of it, as our dictionary notes that they coined words for the natural aging of buildings. They took to calling them "weathered", which was seen as a positive trait. They also had phrases that emphasized their approval of natural progression, stating that "things only got better with age".
We have a clean oxygen supply throughout the ship, but Earth's atmosphere is an amazing cocktail, containing many disparate components such as nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, hydrogen, and water vapor. That's not even going into the chemical byproducts of pollution that gathers within the perimeter between the Earth's atmosphere and the cold vacuum of space. The Cooperation is always floating aimlessly through the latter, but we do our best to pretend it's not. I can't even imagine what it would be like to breathe that wonderful mix of elements into my lungs, but I'm sure it tastes a lot sweeter than the cold, sterilized oxygen that we are forced to breathe.
When I was a young boy, my parents took me to a theme park simulation in the ship's Augmented Reality Entertainment Network Archway, and even its make-believe Main Street seemed much more realistic than ours. The builders on Earth made these romanticized attractions to escape from reality, but our sterile attempts at mimicry are not an escape, they are our reality.
I can't speak from experience, of course. Maybe our downtown really is accurate. Maybe the dirty, gritty, virtual AR simulations that I experienced in school were just a fluke. It's possible Earth's downtown locations really did resemble the ARENA records of a Main Street in the theme parks back on Earth. But, if that is the case, at least the saccharine structures in those parks were real. There was a designer who wanted to bring back the joy of the Main Street storefront that he or she remembered. Our attempts to rebuild the theme park version of long-ago America are hollow. None of us ever experienced the real thing, nor did our parents, grandparents, or any other relative who was alive in our lifetime.
At least Adventuressia proper is free of ancient design from a planet none of us had ever stepped foot upon, minus the ridiculous architecture of the exterior of our domicile and that of those nearby. I have put in a request to allow re-construction of our home to something more fitting the present, but I have yet to receive a response one way or another. At least I can take comfort in the fact that the inside of our home is full of recent Adventuressian interior design practices and knick-knacks that actually mean something to our family.
As I enter the staff corridor, I am abruptly brought out of my thoughts by a blaring alarm. I curse inwardly due to the fact that I was interrupted just as my thoughts were actually turning pleasant. I quickly bring myself to attention, as alarms of any kind are incredibly rare in operations. Normally, it is smooth sailing due to the fact that our vessal largely can operate itself.
Fearing that my sons might be in danger, I hook into the computer terminal. I breathe a sigh of relief as I see it is just a brawl on main street. Not that I'm discrediting the fact that brawls in Adventuressia are in themselves alarming, because they are so rare here. My chief concern, however, is my family, and I know they are safe at work or at home. Besides, I definitely don't want to go back to Main Street right after I just got out of work. I couldn't do much to help anyway with my broken, nearly half robotic body.
As I approach the senior operations staff housing area, I continue to ignore the alarm. Thankfully, I don't have to do so for too long because as I exit the corridor, I can no longer hear its incessant blaring. I breathe a sigh of relief for the silence. I am also calmed by the fact that I can see our home and everything here seems peaceful. Assured that the alarm only applies to Adventuressia's hideous Main Street, I head towards home with a sense of peace for the first time today. I have shaken off my internal nihilism, so now is the time to kick back, relax, and enjoy some downtime with the people I love.
Chapter Six
I was about to open the door expecting a well-needed rest, but the atmosphere in my household was anything but relaxed. I was surprised to see that my son, Junior Operations Engineer Stephen Jackson, had arrived home before I did. He has been waiting for me to arrive home from my shift at the electronics shop. I can tell by the angry look on my son’s face that something bad had happened at work. The fact that my son is standing here means that he likely hadn’t been involved in the brawl, thank God. However, the look on his face made me apprehensive. What on virtual Earth had made my son so angry?
Stephen tells me that he rushed here as soon as he could because he was adamant to get to our home before any of the other operations or security staff did. I was worried by the fact that people working under the operations and security presidents would have come here if my son hadn't done so first. I couldn't help become fearful for the rest of my family. I don't have to wait long to discover that the nervousness I feel is warranted, as my son is not the harbinger of good news He tells me that he only has a few minutes of break to talk to me before he has to return to his new position as a member of the senior operations staff, but he was adamant to his supervisor that he needed to leave then and there. He is nervous, but attentive, as he seems to be aiming to make the most out of the small amount of time he has. I became dismayed when I was told about what happened to my wife and oldest son. However, I am so proud that my youngest cares about his family at least as much as I do.
I sit in anticipation as he explains the situation to me. “That freak of a so-called president locked up mom and Jonathan. Jon was explaining that the splicer baby that calls itself a counselor isn't worthy of its position. One of his sleazy co-workers then punched him for no reason at all. The entire senior staff got into a fight over that thing, and Jon was stuck in the middle of it. While that was happening, mom was shopping downtown when she was attacked out of nowhere by that freak. Once the self-titled counselor found out, she beat mom senseless. You'll never believe what happened next. The President of Operations had the nerve to lock them both up! The splicer spawn only got a day in the brig, while mom and Jon are being held with no set release date.”
I am sure I now have a look of anger on my face that would make the splicer baby look like the Dalai Lama in comparison. I certainly feel that way as I let out a scream in response. “He did what?!”
My son doesn't say a word, but instead reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, metallic, silver device approximately the size of a quarter of his pinkie nail. Realizing that it is a storage unit, I wonder what he intends to show me. He holds it in the palm of his hand, then speaks. “Play file. Timestamp one-five-point-three-six-point-oh-seven.”
The room becomes filled with colored light as the augmented reality surveillance unit turns my family living room into Main Street. As soon as it starts, I feel faint, and there's no doubt my face turns white as I watch a monster beat my wife senseless. That thing had actually come into the shop today. I wish that I hadn’t ignored her. If I’d have beat the living tar out of her, as her kind deserves, I could have spared my beloved Carla from any pain.
As I recall the blood-curdling high pitched shout that I heard this afternoon while I was in the repair room at the back of the shop, my blood boils as I begin to wonder if that was my wife who screamed out in agony. With my temper now at its peak, I turn to my son and ask for the surveillance unit. “Give me that surveillance unit, son, and head back to duty before you get into trouble too. I’ll make sure everyone on this ship knows just what kind of demon spawn these splicer babies really are.”
With that, Stephen hands over the surveillance unit. He doesn’t need to say a word to me, as I have just made him aware that I am going to handle this. I'm just not sure he will be happy when he finds out what I am going to do to get revenge.
My son and I walk out of the house, silently, and enter the crew corridors. Stephen heads for the operation center, while I walk towards the maintenance tunnels. Just as I had suspected, I do not have proper clearance to enter the maintenance area. Putting my programming skills to the ultimate test, I download the detection code to my memory banks and quickly set to work decompiling and reverse engineering it. Since I need a hasty solution, I simply alter it to skip the bio-scan completely, and hardcode the system to always register as a specific individual. I might not be able to go wherever I want on this ship, but that shouldn’t be a problem for Junior Operations Head Rodriguez.
Once inside, I quickly make my way to the emergency alert system. I need to be extremely fast, as my quick-and-dirty hack means that it would be extremely easy to detect. If any crew member entered the maintenance corridors now, they would definitely be suspicious if the bio scan tells them that they are Mario Rodriguez.
I quickly set up wireless communication between the two devices and copy the relevant portion of the video straight to my storage unit. Now that the video is in place, I set an emergency timer to begin in half an hour. That should give me more than enough time to remove any traces of my code as well as my presence from the maintenance systems. I give myself enough leeway to do what needs to be done while still setting up my little presentation to start in a relatively short amount of time. I don’t wish to delay the retribution of the race of creatures that had attacked my wife. Soon the entire ship would see these things as the bloodthirsty monsters they are.
Satisfied that I have finished erasing all traces of my unauthorized entry into the ship’s systems, I decide head back home. This will surely be a sight to see. I'll have to make sure that I head out to the streets to see everyone's reaction. I'll do so nonchalantly, of course, as I don't want to bring any unwanted attention toward myself. I just want to see first hand justice being served for what that thing did to my wife. i am not disappointed as Main Street is brimming with anger and hostility. I want to stop and see the retribution come down upon the splicer scum, but I know it is best for my safety to head back home as quickly as I can.
However, once I get home, I regret that I have to sit here and wait. I try to relax, but there was no way that was going to happen. I think about how I am now kept from the joy of holding my loving wife in my arms. I want to rush down to the holding cells to see her, but I know that I will bring suspicion upon myself if I am there before my son is supposed to come home. I know my son, and I'm sure that he somehow set things up so that he would look like he was working the whole time so he wouldn't be a suspect in whatever I had planned to do. I surely don't want to bring any unwanted heat upon him.
The chaos brings some surprising news that I hadn't expected. I'm only waiting home alone for an hour or so when Stephen walks through the door. I am surprised to see him back here so soon. He tells me that he rushed down to see his brother in the brig as soon as he saw the video, then came to see me afterward, job be damned. He then calms me a bit when he reveals that he had convinced a like-minded colleague to swear to any and all authorities that he had been at work the whole day. While I am not pleased with his latest job desertion, I can't help but wonder what the two brothers had discussed.
He tells me that the President of Operations spoke with the demon spawn that attacked my wife. I groan at the thought of those two conspiring against us regular folk. I can't help but think that our last President of Operations would have handled the situation much better, and I never would have had to send that message to everyone aboard the ship in the first place. Being President of Operations is tough, and I'm sure Pim is now worrying that he is bringing shame to the Anong family name.
Stephen tells me that, because he was in the holding cell right next to the splicer demon, Kevin was able to clearly hear the conversation between the president and the splicer baby counselor as they were talking in the brig. Moving myself toward the edge of my seat, I wait with baited breath as Stephen tells me all about the chaos that ensued after the video dropped.
The president could be heard sighing loudly in frustration. “I’ll do everything I can to try to calm tensions down. Sadly, there’s bound to be increased anger after today, but luckily it was just one small part of the ship that witnessed everything. I’ll make sure that the people of Main Street know the whole story. Hopefully, once they know everything, those people will be able to quell the gossip on the other areas of this ship. It may not seem like it now, but most of the people on this ship are caring people.”
He continued on. “Don’t worry, we’ll nip this thing in the bud. Your safety and the safety of everyone else on the ship is my primary concern. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that it doesn’t get out of hand.”
Kevin told Stephen that right after they were done talking, it seemed that the universe had conspired to play a cosmic joke on the president and the demon. I have not yet told my son about my exact role in what I know is to come next in the story, but I decide to sit in silence for the moment as I'm eager to hear about the fallout.
All of the emergency screens on every part of the ship turned red with the dreaded emergency alert text. Both the counselor and the president could be heard inhaling a huge amount of air as they no doubt braced for the worst. The video that followed was, I'm sure, far worse than anything that they could have imagined.
I'm sure it's chaos out there. The entire ship has now seen video footage which shows the splicer spawn counselor Maria Corben savagely beating Carla Jackson, the mother of two of the ship’s operations staff. There is nothing before or after the broadcast, just the video of the freak beating a helpless wife and mother. I was more sure than ever that showing everyone the footage that Stephen had shown me, as the people on the ship deserve to know what the splicer babies really are like. I grew in rage once again at the fact that the monster pounded and slashed my beloved wife.
At that, I tell Stephen all about my role in showing the video on all of the ship monitors. I hold in my breath as I prepare for the expected storm. Outside of today's understandable leaves of his position on the operations deck, my son is nothing if not zealous in his work in operations and he is not shy about expressing disapproval of those who stand in the way. Surprisingly, even though he disapproved of my hacking into the system, he said that he was glad to see the result.
I think about what must be the mob of thousands of people that are sure to confront the snake that beat my wife and the president who protected her. I feel a rush of adrenaline as those two have now entered what is surely their absolute worst-case scenario. Neither of them will have any idea as to how they could possibly get things back to normal. If they tried, they would surely face serious repercussions.