Gyaros Book One: The Mice Eat Iron (YA 17+ Sci Fi Adventure) (6 page)

He threw the supplies into the empty
briefcase and grabbed a banana from the bowl of fruit that was on the single square table in the room by the window. Miles turned to leave when something caught his eye. A small card with some printed writing on it was sitting against the fruit bowl, he picked it up and read it.

“Miles. I did what I could to make things comfortable for you as you start life in the Yellow Districts. Stay positive, work hard, the Green Districts await your return. Good luck. Candice.”

Miles smiled to himself, all was not lost, all he had to do was stay positive and work hard and everything would sort itself out. Or so he thought. Overcome with a renewed sense of determination he met the two Enforcers at the door of his room, who escorted him down to their vehicle. Exiting the building Miles used his briefcase as a makeshift umbrella until he was safely inside The Enforcer Patroller.

As they made their way through town Miles got to experience day time in the South West Yellow District. Although he couldn’t believe it possible, the city looked even worse in the day light.
Darkness has a way of euphemising and romanticising even the ugliest of people and places, but no matter how grim and dirty the Yellow District looked the night before, under the harsh morning brightness it was as though the lights had been turned back on at closing time at a club. Decrepit human’s littered the streets, and were almost as prevalent as the actual litter itself, of which there was an impressive amount. All the enthusiasm and motivation that Miles had managed to muster in his hotel room slipped away in an instant as the full magnitude of his situation once again dawned on him. If, and it was a big if, Miles was able to hold down a job and adapt to and survive the Yellow District there was no way that he’d be even allowed to apply for work in the Green Districts again for at least six months, and even then there is the processing time for an application which can take another eight weeks. Miles heart sunk as they approached The Earning and Learning Office, he looked up at its garish logo which featured the cartoon figure of a smiling man with a book in one hand and a wad of cash in the other, a misleading representation of money as physical currency had not been in existence for almost thirty six years. Still it worked as a symbol of wealth that was recognisable to anyone.

“*beep*
. This is your stop, and this is where we say goodbye,*beep*,” said Agent Stiles turning to face Miles in the back seat, “*beep*. If you don’t wanna see us again I suggest you be good now and stay out of trouble, *beep*.”

Without saying a word Miles exited the vehicle and again raised his brief case over his head
shielding himself from the pouring rain. The Enforcers sped off and Miles made his way to the entrance of the office. He pushed the door open, entered the building and surveyed the entirely alien scene before him. Having never been out of work before, Miles had never experienced life as a non-earner. Every person living on Carthage had a finite number of non-earning days allotted to them at birth. This number was 100. If a person should find themselves out of work or Department Sanctioned Training Program for a total of 100 days during their lifetime before retirement, they were immediately classed as an Under-Productive and shuttled to Gyaros without trial. And it had been this way since it was written into law by the Areopagus in the year 28. Public lotteries and visor vision competitions were held in which extra days could be won and it was said there were technicians who could hack and manipulate an individual’s biometrics in order to add days, though this may merely be legend, and would surely cost an absolute fortune if true. Miles still had all 100 of his days, a fact that he was extremely proud of, and that would remain the case should he find immediate placement with a new employer today at the office.

Upon entering the office a robotic voice spoke to him from his right side.

“Please place your hand on the screen to secure a place in the queue.” Miles turned to see a monitor encased in white plastic with a touch pad below. He dutifully obeyed the voice, placing his palm on the black screen where the green hand outline indicated.

“Thank you
…Miles Stanton…please take a seat.”

Miles made his way to the rows of white plastic seats and sat two chairs away from a large, bald, surly looking man. The room comprised of a number of hatches lettered A through K
. Miles observed that as peoples’ names were called they would walk toward and enter the allocated hatch and the automated hatch door would close behind them. On the other side of the room were rows of monitors encased in plastic like the one at the entrance. People stood before them presumably browsing available positions and training opportunities, ‘This is God damn humiliating.’

“Miles Stanton to hatch B, Miles Stanton to hatch B
,” hearing his name called over the public address system, Miles jumped to his feet and walked briskly to the open hatch B. As he entered the enclosed space the door shut swiftly behind him, he sat down in the seat provided and looked across at the lady on the other side of the thick, clear plastic barrier that separated them. Her name tag read Paula, she was a woman in her late thirties, had wild frizzy red hair, freckles, a tan that did not come as a result of UV exposure and to say she was sporting a little too much makeup would be putting it very lightly.

“
Hello Miles, my name is Paula. I’ll be your facilitator today,” she said in a piercing nasal tone, while simultaneously pointing to her name badge. ‘Does she think I’m a moron?’ Miles wondered to himself.

“I’m just looking at your file, yes hmm, I see. Due to the circumstances surrounding your dismissal from your previous place of employment you have been placed under a period of non-earning probation
.” Miles knew all too well what this meant and he stood up angrily, slamming his hands on the shiny metal surface in front of him.

“This can’t be, please
, you don’t understand I can…,” but he was cut off by Paula’s shrieking voice.

“Mr Stanton please be quiet and
take your seat!” Miles, frightened by the sudden change in volume, slowly sat back down and kept quiet. Paula cleared her throat and continued calmly.

“Now as I was saying, for the next six months your non-earning days have been reduced to zero. Providing that you remain employed for the full term of your probationary period your full
one hundred days will be returned to you. However if you spend a single day un-earning or commit a single violation you will be automatically sentenced with banishment to Gyaros. We cannot understate the seriousness of your work code violation Miles. Extreme bodily violence against a superior is no laughing matter,” Paula said condescendingly as she looked at Miles with an expression akin to that of a mother reprimanding her child. Paula then turned her attention to the monitor in front of her.

“We have two positions available today that comply with your eligibi
lity criteria, shall I read them to you?” she looked up at Miles who nodded sullenly and folded his arms, ‘it doesn’t get much worse than this.’

“The first position is janitor at Le Cinema Magnifique, duties include cleaning, running errands
and some light maintenance. And the only other option is as a cart runner for Yellow Carts, and the only duty listed is, well, cart running,” Paula finished and looked up to Miles awaiting an answer. Miles had a pretty good idea what a cart runner was. During his brief drives through the Yellow Districts with The Enforcers he had noticed a phenomenon he’d never witnessed in the Green Districts. Cart running, as it appeared to be called, from what Miles could tell was the act of one person pulling another person along in a rickety wooden chair with large spoked wheels and a covering to stop the rain from reaching the passenger. As well as the physical demands, the very idea of performing such a degrading task was enough to make up Miles’ mind.

“I’ll take the janitor job
,” Miles muttered without looking up.

“Very well
,” said Paula, typing away on her computer, “I have confirmed that you are now an employee of Le Cinema Magnifique. You are to report to Le Cinema Magnifique for orientation and training today at eleven AM sharp.” Miles looked up to the digital clock situated behind Paula, it read 10:12.

“I have printed the address on this slip
,” Miles reached into the small opening at the bottom of the plastic barrier and took the piece of paper.

“Good luck Mister Stanton. Work diligently and productively and you will have nothing to worry about. Those six months will fly by and you’ll have every one of your days back
,” Paula beamed a smile with her big red lips that Miles refused to return. Without saying a word the cheerless man stood up, turned and when the automated door slid open, made his way out of the hatch and then out of the building. ‘How the hell am I going to last six months down here?’ Miles sighed and asked himself, looking up at the torrential rain.

While taking shelter under the awning of the office
he looked down at the address on the slip, and then up at the large digital tram timetable across the street. A tram was due and so Miles made his way to the stop, running through the rain until he was sheltered again. After a minute of waiting an automated tram pulled up, Miles boarded and took a seat. The tram doors closed and whisked the dejected man off to Le Cinema Magnifique, ‘let’s get this over with.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4

'So this is it?' Miles thought to himself as he looked up at the faulty neon
sign of Le Cinema Magnifique. The run down old building was surrounded by petty criminals and yet more mysterious half naked women, in a part of Elissa which he'd never had the slightest desire to visit much less work in. Miles' briefcase which usually contained important documents and other work related necessities now carried nothing more than his ham sandwich and his packet of lightly salted potato chips. He sighed deeply and stepped through the double doors and into the main lobby. The cinema lobby was empty except for a young employee behind the counter with a pair of large headphones on, drumming along to the music with a couple of long red candy strips on the counter top. He had spikey blonde hair, tattoos covered his arms and he was wearing what appeared to be the cinema's red and blue uniform. Miles let out another soft sigh, rolled his eyes and approached the counter. The employee had his eyes closed and was miming the lyrics to the song as he continued to drum, not noticing Miles. With his brow furrowed into a disgruntled expression, Miles stood at the counter impatiently before yanking one of the colourful sweets from the young man's hand. The employee looked up startled and removed his headphones, Miles could hear the fast punk rock music still playing through the speakers of the headphones and wondered how anyone could listen to music at such a volume.

“Uh
…hey, can I help you?” the young man asked looking slightly embarrassed. Miles took a deep breath, contained his frustration and replied.

“I start work here today
.”

“Oh
,” said the cinema employee, taking a bite of his remaining candy, “you should talk to Mr Grayson, the manager guy. I'll go get him for ya,” and with that, the young man disappeared through a door behind the counter leaving Miles standing in an empty lobby with his lunch in one hand and a piece of stale candy in the other. Miles took this time to examine his surroundings, taking in the atmosphere of his new workplace. The dark green carpet, peppered with popcorn and countless sticky stains from a variety of beverages was certainly a change from the clean white floors of The Elissan Energy Department. Even the smell of the cinema seemed off, Miles always enjoyed the familiar scent of the theatre when he would go to see a movie with his family, but this place reeked of old popcorn and alcohol. A smell quite unfamiliar to Miles as Hellen would rarely let him drink other than to have a glass of wine on their anniversary each year. ‘How the hell am I going to last six whole months!?’ After a short while, the blonde haired employee returned with an older man whom Miles presumed to be Mr Grayson, ‘the manager guy’.

He was a few inches shorter than Miles and a
few pounds heavier by the look of it. He had a slick comb-over in an attempt, entirely in vain, to hide his balding head.

“Mr
Stanton is it?” the older man asked.

“Please, call me Miles
,” Miles replied with a strained smile as he quickly put the piece of candy in his back pocket and extended his right hand.

“Well Miles, I'm Ellis Grayson, the owner
and
manager of this fine establishment,” said Grayson somewhat ironically as he took Miles’ hand and shook it roughly, apparently acknowledging the fairly decrepit state of the cinema.

“When you're ready, grab one of those uniforms from back here and start cleaning this place up, gotta look nice for the customers!” Mil
es could hardly believe that Mr Grayson even knew what a customer looked like judging from the state of his ‘fine establishment’. He simply continued to fake a smile.

“I
t'll be a pleasure to work here Sir.”

“That's what I li
ke to hear from my employees Mr Stanton!” he said boisterously, “now, if you have any questions, I'm sure Ryker here will be able to fill you in,” continued Mr. Grayson, briefly putting his hand on the young employee's shoulder before returning to his office. ‘Grayson seems like a decent enough guy, could use a shower, but pretty harmless, could have been worse!’