As the door opened, Samuel could see that Ben had bloodied the administrator’s nose and was screaming at him. In short order the proctor jabbed Ben with an electrified baton and the youth collapsed in a heap.
Samuel cursed under his breath, knowing that several nights in the youth detention center was only going to put a negative mark on Ben’s life-bond, which would make him even more undesirable to the various labor chiefs.
Inside, the administrator dabbed at his nose while another proctor arrived and the two men hauled out Ben’s unconscious body.
Samuel swallowed with nervousness and stepped inside as the administrator impatiently waved him in. Samuel followed the administrator’s silent invitation to sit down, and then the sliding door closed behind him.
“Samuel Hyst, son of Saul and Marion Hyst,” said the administrator, more to himself than Samuel it seemed, as he thumbed through the files on a handheld data-pad. “Let’s see what we have on you.” He murmured to himself as he read. “No inherited debts, as of yet. Both parents still living, median test scores. Ah yes, here we are, aptitude assessment scores.”
Samuel blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry sir, when did we take aptitude tests? I don’t remember that exam.” He leaned forward in a half-attempt to read the administrator’s screen.
“Oh, it’s not a single exam, young man. Data for the assessment is gathered from your first day in academy onwards, with additional data points coming from your family history, hab-block of birth, and medical records,” stated the administrator matter-of-factly as he scrolled through the arcane graphs and charts presented on his screen. “This information will inform us as to what your career options are within the Grotto workforce, which as you know is requisite to paying back your life-bond.”
“I’ve been thinking that I’d like to-,” Samuel started to say before the administrator cut him off sharply.
“Desire is irrelevant, young man. If desire dictated a person’s place in the workforce then the forges would grow cold, the lights would go dark, and the human race would go back to living in caves. Now, drop the questions and let me do my job,” spat the administrator as he pulled a second screen from his desk and flipped it around so that Samuel could see. “According to the assessments, you are an ideal candidate for waste disposal, janitorial, and food service. All three of those are our largest labor sectors, so we should have no problem placing your life-bond with a suitable labor chief.”
“What about working the line? My father is in the forge at Assemblage 23, he was told there would be a place for me there,” protested Samuel, who almost got out of his seat before remembering that there were likely proctors watching this particular booth after Ben’s outburst.
“Regardless of what opportunities may or may not exist at Assemblage 23, and that is conjecture, your life-bond is due today, and forge work was not an appropriate match for the data present in your aptitude assessment.” The administrator produced a hypo dispenser and held his open hand out, “Now, give me your hand and let’s get this life-bond administered.”
“That’s it? You just look at some data and decide my life?” grumbled Samuel. “No wonder Ben punched you in the face.” He held his hand out to the administrator.
The administrator stabbed Samuel’s wrist with the hypo and the needle deposited a small microchip in the young man’s wrist. Samuel already knew that the chip contained the sum total of his digital information, his academy scores, his medical records, his total Grotto debts, and now, his workforce assessment. Knowing about it, and seeing it, were very different, and he found himself deeply troubled in a way that he had not expected.
Grotto life was hard, and often disappointing, but his father had taught him to try do his best, to live today for today. As Samuel sat back and rubbed his wrist it seemed like a hollow piece of advice, like something a person would say to themselves if they were afraid to look past the boundaries of today and see that all the tomorrows would never change.
“Samuel, I understand that you may feel that you have more to offer Grotto than what exists within the limitations of your workforce assessment,” the administrator offered, his expression softening somewhat, “My advice is take the job you can get, and work hard, give yourself a chance to settle into a routine.”
Then the administrator opened a sliding drawer and handed Samuel a small digi-card. It was colored blue, and simply had the word REAPER stamped on one side. He knew that the card would activate and display whatever message or data that was stored within once he slotted it into a data-pad or wall terminal, though he wasn’t sure what it was for.
“What is REAPER?” he asked as the administrator stood up and gestured for Samuel to leave.
“The only job for which the aptitude assessment is irrelevant. If you find yourself unable to cope with your new life, much like that boy who assaulted me, then activate that card,” he said as the door opened and he gently pushed Samuel out so that the next person in line could enter, “Risk and reward young man, consider it an alternative to crime or suicide.”
It had been two long years since the graduation administrator had given Samuel the REAPER card, and though he still kept it, the young man had only activated it once. After what he had learned, Samuel had placed it high on a shelf in his room and did his best to forget it.
At the time, he had been struggling with disappointment over his workforce assignment. Not only had his father done fabrication work in exchange for a favor he could not call in, but because of Samuel’s limited workforce prospects, there was little hope of him paying off his life-bond, much less affording any schooling to better his situation.
Samuel had begrudgingly taken work in the food service sector. He spent most of his ten-hour shifts on an assembly line preparing and packaging bland meals of protein blocks, fiber sticks, and nutrient powder. Once the meals had been prepared, packaged, and crated, they were distributed by a fleet of transport skiffs to the various forges, factories, and refineries that covered the surface of Baen 6.
Samuel had no clear idea where the food came from—likely some agri-world outside the otherwise harsh environment of the Baen system—only that his plant removed bulk ingredients from off-world shipments and processed them for Baen workforce consumption.
Most Grotto labor sectors included a meal plan, which of course was compulsory and automatically deducted from each worker’s pay, regardless of whether or not they ate the meals. As a result, Samuel’s plant ran day and night to match the demand for calories from the planet’s workforce.
At least the work was easy, Samuel had managed to tell himself, even if monotonous. He had told himself this many times and he had managed to find a modicum of peace in it.
The pay for assembly line work was low, but since he was not rated for any other work, he was forced to make ends meet as best he could. For the first year, Samuel lived with his mother and father, as did most graduates for at least the first few years, assuming they ever accumulated enough to move out on their own. Samuel saved enough in housing payments that when he met Sura Kameni he was able to make the decision to move out on his own.
She was from a different Hab-Block and though most people did not venture out of their own districts, she had decided on a whim to explore. Sura had simply boarded the metro and decided to get off at the first stop that looked interesting. She was a photographic artist, which was something Samuel had never heard of until she asked for permission to take his photo.
Samuel had been sitting on the concrete steps of the district’s Spire, which was a skyscraper that housed the local police force and public surveillance operations. He was waiting for Ben Takeda to be released from jail. Again.