Exit Denied
Even the smallest cog can bring down the machine when it breaks.
Ida’s Comlink headset pressed against her temples, and she gently removed the rig. The work lights had shut off for the day, leaving the empty office bathed in the dim auxiliary orange. Her coworkers must have said their goodbyes before logging off for the weekend, but she missed them completely. Inspiration this good didn’t strike very often, and she wanted to squeeze every drop of creativity out of her brain before she lost momentum.
She shivered and wrapped her tattered sweater around her, her breath puffing out in tiny white clouds. They kept the office at the optimal temperature for the machines, which made sense, and at least they got company-issued sweaters and fingerless gloves.
Her mother used to scold her for giving away too much of her time and health, especially for a company that barely remembered her name. But Ida didn’t want to make waves. Her supervisor dangled a promotion for the last year, and she was certain it was time for her to advance. Well, not certain, but pretty sure. So, she placated herself by building backdoor traps into every system she worked on. Nothing she would ever tell anyone about and certainly never use. Just blowing off a little frustration, and maybe a tiny ego boost knowing a very simple series of keystrokes could undo any of her work.
Unraveling code was like pulling a thread on a sweater. Just the right tug at the right line and the whole thing would turn into so much spaghetti.
She rubbed her fatigued eyes and made a mental note to stop by the Pharmago on the way home and get some Enervation Drops, or else she would have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. Comlink migraine stemmed from overuse, so it was technically preventable; ie, not covered by insurance. Nor did it qualify as a valid excuse to call out sick the next day. Maybe her mother was right. Sure, her work was challenging, but why was she risking Com-fry for a company that didn’t even pay overtime?
Com-fry was serious, and she knew she couldn’t afford to be so cavalier about her health. Just last month, a worker at an office in Chicago burned out. They didn’t find his body for 4 days, perfectly preserved like cold-dried jerky. Ida stood and rolled her shoulders and neck back, cracking a satisfying series of pops. A gurgling from her stomach rang out across the empty floor. Heaven would be a shower, a hot bowl of pho, and the next episode of that documentary she had been sitting in her streaming queue for weeks.
The motion-sensitive lights illuminated the hall as she walked down it, shutting off as she passed. She made another mental note to stop by the company commissary on the way out to purchase some more entrance tokens for the rest of the week. She’d used her last one on the way in and would need one for tomorrow.
The Entrance Token system was one of her better ideas. It was supposed to be symbolic. Employees could earn tokens through good work and met goals. It was a way to game-ify metrics and, at the same time, increase perceived value in the workspace. Making it feel worth competing for. That was the idea, anyway. But then Ida found herself shuttled to the side in the implementation stages, and the company saw a way to help cut down on cost overhead by having employees pay into the workspace. With the added benefit that employees might stay longer, work harder, or feel more committed because they’ve literally paid to be there.
And wasn’t that what she was doing?
The token system took off like gangbusters, becoming her company’s best seller, with billions of units in operation in dozens of countries. When all of downtown had their turnstile technology installed, the sales team at least, got a pizza party. She wasn’t even mentioned by name in the profit report newsletter. Her new idea would blow the old one out of the water. This time, they’d remember her name.
Dreaming of hot soup and cool pajamas, she cried out, startled as her thighs slammed against the turnstile. The metal arm locked fast.
“Exit Denied. Please insert an exit token.” An automated voice echoed across the empty marble lobby.
Since when did they require exit tokens? She kicked herself for not stocking up on tokens on her way in. But she was running late and didn’t want to get the time docked. Five minutes late got you docked half a day’s pay, while staying late to cover didn’t make a dent. Ida fumbled around in her pockets, knowing full well she didn’t have anything. Everyone was gone for the night, so there was no one she could ask for a spot.
Thankful she decided to wear pants today, Ida vaulted over the turnstile. The security camera footage couldn’t be helped, but hopefully, she wouldn’t be in too much trouble if she brought in the extra tokens in the morning.
The dim lobby lighting changed to a dull red pulsating glow.
“Please wait for security assistance.”
“Oh shit.” She sprinted for the glass door, but the lock slammed home just as she reached it. She shook the handle anyway, hoping it would open, knowing it wouldn’t.
A high-pitched whirring approached from behind.
“Remain Calm, intruder.” The Security Droid said as it drew nearer. Its cylindrical metal body and telescoping arms were deceptively frail-looking. It was made of a carbon fiber alloy that could crush her if it decided to. And Security Droids were not known for their diplomacy. She wouldn’t stand a chance in an actual physical altercation.
“I’m an employee.” Ida held up her empty hands, hoping to appeal to the droid’s non-existent reason. Or the good fortune that the bot’s camera had an actual security human watching from the other end. “I don’t have a token on me. I will bring 2 in the morning. I swear.”
“Insufficient exit funds is tantamount to embezzlement.”
“What? No, they just instituted this policy today. It wasn’t here this morning, I didn’t know.” Ida removed her purse and turned it over, dumping out the contents. A demonstrably non-threatening gesture.
“Inadequate excuse. Theft is grounds for termination.” The droid continued its advance.
Embezzlement and termination for working late? She’d given hours of her time, who knows how many of her brain cells, for such cold dismissal in the face of extra effort. They didn’t deserve her new idea. They didn’t deserve her last idea.
Ida steadied herself. She would only have one shot at this. Like a charging bull, the droid moved in on her. Its arms outstretched. As it crossed in range, Ida flopped her empty bag over the camera and ducked down. The Droid continued its advance, smashing through the glass door. She snatched up her ID, wallet, and keys off the floor before tucking through the door and making a break down the building steps. The droid whirled and jigged, trying to dislodge the bag from its camera. It tumbled down the front steps and landed on its back with sickening crunch.
She was home free, but now the destruction of property would be added to the infraction. That was mandatory jail time. Ida trudged back upstairs to her workstation.
Her shower, pho and documentary forgotten, Ida reconnected. She was pressing the limits for Comlink connection already, but she wasn’t going to sit back and let them treat her like this, no company should treat their employees like this. Her new idea was going to streamline the token process, make it so they wouldn’t have to be bought individually or even in batches. A personal ID would have a single token attached that could be easily refilled. But with a few clips in the code she could create an infinite loop that would give everyone in the city a permanent free token glitch. With the new product irreparably sabotaged and unusable, she turned her attention toward the back door of the current hard-coin system.
Let’s see how they denied exits when all the doors were unlocked.
Her Comlink sparked, and her vision flooded with static. She felt her mind slipping but not before exploiting her carefully hidden backdoor.
Her eyes glazed over white, and her breathing slowed. She wondered how long it would take someone to find her body. Her office was on a sparsely populated corner, and most of her team was in an office half a world away.
High-rises loomed over the darkening city as the summer sun slipped behind the evenly spaced spires that descended in height from the tallest building at the city center in a Fibonacci flower made of steel and glass.
The already clean streets sparkled with caustic chemicals sprayed from automatic cleaning nozzles. Small robotic street scrubbers made their evening rounds, erasing any lingering evidence of human activity. The business district completely emptied after 5. Workers were anxious to get to their personal domiciles and to avoid the robotic nightlife that ruled after dark. Cleaning, scrubbing, organizing, an army of artificial creatures set on putting to rights the humanistic wrongs of the day.
Security patrol sentries and driverless cabs pace back and forth, soundless lions of the steel jungle on the prowl for the errant persons still out after dark. Scores of red lights indicating locked buildings blinked, then turned green, then winked out as every door using her company’s technology unlocked and powered down.
But security systems are often integrated with other systems, such as HVAC and climate control, for operational ease and fewer personnel. The lights flickered over Ida’s lifeless body, and the AC clicked and clanked, trying to bypass some blocked line of code even she missed. The cold-blast air designed to prevent server overheating powered down first in her building, then another, and another after that.
Server fans whirred to life, desperate to cool their rapidly overheating systems, a surging power drain on the overworked grid. Somewhere, a breaker flipped, passing the surge down the line, flipping another. The compounding surges and tripped breakers like so much applause.
Outside, streetlights and traffic lights powered down. Autonomous vehicles and cleaner bots crashed into one another.
First her city, then the state, and before the end of the night, the entire region overloaded in a cascade of failures, blanketing the West Coast in darkness.
Ida’s breathing stopped, and a line of sweat dripped down her face. Her last thought was only that they better remember her name.
I started this story when I read about the Wells Fargo Employee who died on the job and wasn’t found for four days. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how easily we adapt to anything. Tiny injustices, bureaucratic cruelties, building and compounding over time until…