_ _ _ _ | |_| |__ ___ _ __ ___ _ __| |_ __ _| | | __| '_ \ / _ \ | '_ \ / _ \| '__| __/ _` | | | |_| | | | __/ | |_) | (_) | | | || (_| | | \__|_| |_|\___| | .__/ \___/|_| \__\__,_|_| |_| ______________________________________ | __________________________________ | | | ______________________________ | | | | | __________________________ | | | | | | | ________________________ | | | | | | | || ______________________ || | | | | | | ||| ____________________ ||| | | | | | | |||| __________________ |||| | | | | | | ||||| _____________,__ ||,|| | | | | | | |||||| __________ //_ |||\\| | | | | | | ||||||| _________ \\ | __//| | | | | | | |||||||| _________ \\_/ // | | | | | | | ||||||||| / / || | | | | | | |||||||||_________/ / ||| | | | | | | ||||||||_________/__ / |||| | | | | | | |||||||____________/ / ||||| | | | | | | ||||||_____________\ \|||||| | | | | | | |||||_______________\ \||||| | | | | | | ||||____________________|||| | | | | | | |||______________________||| | | | | | | ||________________________|| | | | | | | |__________________________| | | | | | |______________________________| | | | |__________________________________| | |______________________________________| A short story by Ian Alloway The ventilator had broken last week, and the association, with all its resources tied up in production, wasn't going to fix it until things slowed down. But, if production was going to be efficient, didn’t the humans have to breathe? A pillar of light slanted across the floor of the facility. It made its way towards a small cluster of workstations. It was the seventh day in a row that this had happened. The light continued its course and eventually shimmered on one particular man’s desk. Was the source solar or was it sodium halide, the man wondered? What time was it? Had he really been here seven days? He paused from his labor and stood up, partly from curiosity and partly from rebellion. He quietly made his way towards the glowing wave. As he climbed the stairs, he could discern that it was a mixture of both artificial and natural light. Even with his curiosity satisfied, he still continued to move towards the source of illumination. And there it was: a hole in the wall with the silhouette of a frozen “x”. Visible swells of heat twisted around its edges and rushed through the openings. He would take some time at the portal today. The fan had rested, and so he would do the same. Having already assembled three components this afternoon, a small break shouldn’t reflect in the final shift count. He could still place his head out the hole, COULDN'T HE? He did. The warmth from inside the facility gathered at the portal. As the thermal cyclone bore its way through the hole, there was no reprieve from the temperature, not even outside the walls. There were at least twenty places he would rather be at this moment; numerous paradises. But those thoughts should stop, he insisted. He needed to focus on… the shift. But then… the swaying began and its allure was potent. The movement continued… A BREEZY HAMMOCK ON A REMOTE ISLAND. He sat up, interrupting the rhythm of his netted swing. He wondered if he could reach the summit of the solitary hill that stood in the center of the land. He would have a clean vista from the peak. Maybe a soft cyan vision would spread upon the horizon and through it he could see everything. What route should he take? He stood and began to move. Perhaps passing through the sentient forest might invoke the vision again. Something rare had haunted him with pleasure since his first encounter, and he believed he would be happy forever if he could just have the same experience again. So he trudged along the way. And, deep in the chlorophyll distance of his path, he wondered if, with his mind, or perhaps with his hands, he could release all of the pain inside all of the stucco buildings in the world. The fronds touched him as he persisted. They seemed to ask so many things of him. Who was he? What did he want? Why was he there? Did he like them? Would he stay? He was uncomfortable. Confusion grew. He paused on his way to the crest. He was hungry. He would start a fire to cook -to cook -to cook -to cook what? Who was he kidding? He needed the markets, the cans of food. He wasn't going to hunt, kill, clean and cook a wild pig. HE NEEDED THIS PLACE. This place right HERE. This relentless industry granted his survival. What would he be without it? A rat on pavement? He believed in honest wages; he was no pirate. He should get back to the department, they had probably already noticed that he was gone. He took one last gasp into the portal. Fumes floated from a machine in the alley below. As he turned away, its acrid flavor was as bitter as the air inside the walls.