Hello Readers! This is a one-off story that occurred to me when I was signed my one-millionth "contract" for some sort of website or service without ever bothering to read it. Let me know what you think!*
Bureaucratic Snafu
The alarm buzzed at 0545, which indicated that 3A, Inc. had delivered an urgent message that required my immediate attention. Under normal circumstances, the Company would permit me to sleep until 0615, so that I could arrive at my Temporary Vocational Station ("TVS") at 0700. That is, my temp job. I sat up quickly on my bed, nearly bumping my head on the Wardrobe Storage Unit ("WSU" or, you know, closet) that was placed above my Reclined Sleeping Quarters ("RSQ", also known as the bed). I swung my feet out into my Residential Occupancy Unit ("ROU") and rubbed my eyes with the back of my hands. ROU means, essentially, an apartment.
Though, in that case, the official Company name didn't bother me much. My ROU was not much of an apartment. My Combined RSQ/WSU, a Food Preparation Station ("FPS" or kitchen), a Recreational Viewing Area ("RVA" or screen), and Individual Sanitary Facility ("ISF" or bathroom) all crammed into an area about four meters by four meters. It was located in a very old High-Rise Residential Structure ("HRRS" or apartment building) and was shabby and perpetually dirty. I hardly consider it an apartment. It is most definitely an ROU.
My husband, Martin, he had always told me not to complain. He reminded me that the Company assigned much less spacious and clean ROUs to other people, including his parents. When I was in high school, the combination of my test scores and genetic screenings had indicated that I was of "moderate breeding stock." And, as a result, I had been assigned a mate of similar attributes (that is, Martin) and allotted an individual ROU to facilitate breeding. If I had done more poorly on my tests, or disclosed less favorable genetic attributes, I would likely have been rendered infertile and assigned to a Mass Residential Center ("MRC" or barracks). It was my role to produce viable offspring in the hopes that they would someday be Productive Producers and Consumers ("PPCs" or...I guess, a person). And so my ROU, while far smaller than the ROUs provided to "high breeding stock" individuals or Valued Executive Contractors ("VECs"), was still a mark of relative privilege.
Martin took immense pride in that privilege and his place in the Company. I had never entirely understood Martin's role at his Permanent Vocational Station ("PVS"), but I gathered that it was repetitive and dull. I had surmised that we were on the lower end of the "moderate breeding stock" classification and that my husband, consequently, was primarily involved in directly supervising Entry Level Associates ("ELAs") from the MRC barracks.
Of course, all of that pride had ended two months earlier when Martin died. After seven years of marriage and two children, I was now an Un-Mated Breeder ("UMB"), or a widow. I was, officially, granted a two-month long Scheduled Bereavement Period ("SBP") during which time I was assigned to my light-duty TVS. However, I felt no actual need for light duty, I was hardly bereaved. Martin and I had met on our wedding day. And, while our genetics had determined our compatibility, something different had occurred in practice. Martin was just...a bit of an asshole. I gathered that one of his accident at work might have been less of an accident, and more of a plot by the ELAs who had grown tired of his shit. I felt terrible that it had happened, because I'd never wanted anything bad to happen to Martin. But I couldn't pretend that I missed him. I wouldn't notice if the screen in my RVA was changed either. That was what Martin was. Furniture.
Not even the birth of our two children had brought us together in any meaningful way. Although, part of that was likely because, as only moderate breeding stock, the Company had decided that it was best that more qualified contractors handle their care and education. That was a relatively recent innovation by our new CEO. Our stockholders, I am told, were very happy with the results. But for us, the fact that we had children that we didn't know had fractured the marriage even more than it had been at the start. I had actually placed a Request for Civil Divorce ("RCD") with the Company on the day after our first, second, third, four, fifth, sixth, and seventh wedding anniversary (the only days on which those RCDs had been permitted) and had been denied each time, the final time with prejudice. Meaning I wasn't allowed to ever file another one absent physical abuse. Fortunately, I would never need for file RCD regarding Martin again.
Nonetheless, I suspected the urgent message from the Company was, in some way, related to Martin. I rose slowly from my bed and walked over to my RVA. I clicked on the screen. As I knew would happen, the urgent message precluded me from watching any Recreational Visual Programming ("RVP"). The message popped up immediately. The familiar, soothing feminine voice of the 3A, Inc.'s Virtual Human Resources Liaison read a message that also appeared in block letters on the screen. I listened, rather than read:
"Good Morning, Mira Sanders nee Wolinksy," the message began, "3A, Inc.'s Human Resources Department is in receipt of your Form 32-A - Request for Permanent Reassignment to Non-Procreative Vocational Tasks. That request is hereby DENIED. Your Form 32-A contained a properly attached Addendum F7 - Request for Explanation of Disposition of Form 32-A. Our records indicate the the Addendum F7 filing fee was properly included. Therefore, that request is hereby GRANTED.
"3A, Inc.'s Human Resources Department has reviewed your file for pertinent details. Mira Sanders nee Wolinsky, aged 28, assigned as moderate breeding stock. As per your Independent Contractor Agreement, you are required, in addition to your Regular Moderate Vocational Duty, to provide the Company with no fewer than four ("4") viable offspring. Your personnel record indicates that you have thus far produced only two ("2") viable offspring. While one of those offspring currently demonstrates possible aptitude as a high breeding stock, two ("2") offspring of any aptitude level is an insufficient basis for granting a modification to your Independent Contractor Agreement, as expressly stated in 3A Inc.'s Personnel Manual, Chapter 17, Paragraph 15, Lines 72-73. Of particular concern to the Human Resources Department was the fact that we calculate that you have at least 19 child-bearing years remaining. In that time, we calculate that you should produce at least four additional viable offspring. You will, of course, be entitled to bonuses for any child produced beyond the contractually required four ("4"). For these reasons, your Form 31-A -Request for Permanent Reassignment to Non-Procreative Vocational Tasks is denied.
"This notification further informs you that your SBP is hereby ended. You are to report to your TVS today and return to your Regular Moderate Vocational Duty tomorrow at 0700. When you returned to your ROU at 1900, your new mate should be assigned. You are a valued member of the 3A, Inc. Team!"
I let out a low sigh and clicked off the screen, as it started to play the message again. I guess I had been expecting this, even if I had been desperately hoping for a different result. To translate HR bot's message into something humans can understand, after Martin's death I had asked for a new job (even a more strenuous job) that would not carry any requirement that I have children for the Company. Two were enough. I had also asked for an explanation for whatever decision was reached (having been burned many times in the past, on making requests of the Company and receiving one-word responses without explanation. That is: DENIED). My request was denied. I was being returned to my normal job, with the requirement that I produce children. To that end, I would have a new husband by the time I returned from work that evening.
"Fuck," I said. I knew that the Company monitored what I said in my ROU at all times. It wasn't paranoia. It was in my Independent Contractor Agreement. I had signed it 20 years ago and knew it pertinent provisions by heart. Twenty-four hour monitoring was a condition placed on me, in allowing me to stay in my ROU. But I had long since learned that you could complain as much as you liked about the Company, as long as you never actually did anything about it. The Company actually seemed to welcome impotent frustration.
I headed for my ISF and removed my night clothes. I looked at myself for a moment in the mirror, running my fingers through my long black hair. Martin had always said that my test scores must have been lower than I supposed, because my status as moderate breeding stock must have been mostly based on my appearance. He considered this a compliment. Still, I knew that my new husband would likely be gratified, despite the fact that I was an older UMB. I was attractive enough. Large dark eyes, smooth skin, high firm breasts, narrow waist, luscious hips, and slender legs. A Company girl, through and through.
"God help me," I said bitterly, not really meaning anything by it. Sometimes, liked to tease the bots that watched me. If they thought I was thinking something else, the algorithm that attended to my needs would get scrambled. And why make it easy on them?
By 0701, I had taken a shower, shaved, brushed my teeth, dressed, eaten a light breakfast, left my ROU, taken the shuttle to my TVS and clocked in. I knew that by the time I returned, my water tank, shaving cream, tooth paste, and food would be replaced and an invoice would be resting on the FPS counter indicating the credits that had been removed from my Company account to pay for them. I would also have a husband.
"Mira Sanders," A loud voice called as I headed towards my cubicle to work. I recognized the voice as my Temporary Vocational Director ("TVD"). My boss. I stopped and waited for my TVD, a portly little man named Bruener, to approach me.
"Good Morning, Director," I said courteously, "I was actually coming to see you. I received a message from Human Resources this morning and..."
