《Citizen Rat and Other Stories》


 2042: Citizen Rat

    Citizen Rat


    Frustration threatened to overwhelm Matthew Jackson.


    He glanced at the fuel gauge of his 2022 Hyundai Omega sedan and sighed.


    Almost out, it would cost a lot to refuel, but the government was doing all it could. It was due to the instability in the oil producing sector. The public just had to bear the brunt of the cost until some headway was made. The oil crisis would be solved eventually.


    The traffic seemed especially bad today. Every year the traffic had gotten worse, every year more cars congested the badly worn roads and every year the smog became more toxic. Matthew could barely see five cars ahead in the slowly crawling throng of chugging automobiles. It wasn''t that there weren''t enough roads being built, on the contrary there were roads being built in every conceivable direction, but the tolls charged by the corporate lease holders were high; tolls that a regular office worker like Matthew Jackson simply couldn''t afford. Matthew abolished the thought, it was because he didn''t work hard enough that he was in this situation. Everyone knew that if you worked hard enough, success was certain. His laziness was keeping him down.


    "Step up your game Jackson" he said to himself.


    Jackson knew that his tardiness arriving at work would mean a docked pay check. He''d be lucky to break even with his fuel, rent and tax costs this month. More likely he''d have to apply for yet another personal loan, just to keep his head above water.


    Jackson wasn''t alone in his financial predicament. The shock jock on the radio was yet again droning on about the soaring price of commodities, the increase of unemployment to 37%, about the government''s talk of cutting back on services to finally get the budget back into black. It was all the socialists'' fault, he said. They had ruined everything almost half a century ago. The people without jobs weren''t pulling their weight, damn socialist bludgers, Jackson was grateful he had his job at all.


    Matthew Jackson had worked since he was fifteen years old, he was now forty-two. He had worked for the same company all that time, he was pretty proud of that.


    He had never known a government to get the budget back into black. People needed to work harder if the country was going to get back on track.


    It wasn''t from his lack of trying though. When he had finished school way back in 2015 there were great plans in store. New infrastructure, roads that would make commuting from the outer suburbs a fast and painless experience, health services that were fair and affordable, tax incentives and lowered rates that were all supposed to get the nation back on track after a disastrous six years of political uncertainty.


    Talk was evidently cheap; the long term consequences weren''t though.


    The roads that were supposed to make things easier had instead become expensive; much delayed money sinks which, when finally opened had been perma-leased to transport companies in lieu of direct payments along with full rights to charge fee for service. Now travelling to work from home along those shiny new streets could cost half a day''s earnings, the alternative was to take one of the only two public roads still left that led into the central city district and that meant a four-hour crawl through smog and grime along roads that were no longer maintained because the government said it couldn''t afford it.


    The car inched forward into a half-foot deep pothole, Matthew cursed as he felt the scrape of metal on bitumen. He would be fined for damage to company property for that.


    Seven AM, he was half an hour late, he wouldn''t get paid for today but if he got there before eight then at least he wouldn''t owe the company money. Late fines, dress code fines, language fines, respect and due diligence fines, there were a lot of ways to be fined in Matthew Jackson''s line of work.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Ironically, Matthew Jackson''s work was to process fines, he had processed his own more than once, he had stoically processed the fines and grimly added a late fee as he knew his wage wouldn''t be able to meet the deadline on time. By doing it now he was just being more efficient, it would save the company money, maybe get him noticed.


    The car eased out of the pot hole, the sedan was technically his but it was tied to his employment and while he paid for the fuel and maintenance it wasn''t his to sell. He did have to pay his company to replace it every five years as part of his contract. The payments cost almost half of his monthly income but that was pretty standard. The bright yellow logos emblazoned on its bonnet brought some cheer to his otherwise gloomy mood.


    Loyalty was its own reward.


    Matthew''s thoughts drifted to his mother in her bed over at Saint Morrison''s Unity Care Hospital. She had lung cancer although she hadn''t smoked a day in her life; almost anyone who lived past the age of sixty got lung cancer these days, so at seventy-three she wasn''t doing too badly. Jackson knew that if he had more money she could buy her a lung transplant. Scientific research had leaped forward in the past couple of decades but with the abolishment of public health care most people couldn''t afford the new cures, remedies and treatments that had seen life expectancy jump for eight four to one hundred and forty, more if you could afford Amgen Rejuvenation.


    She wouldn''t have to suffer long now, the complete lack of care she received as a NVAP, that''s non value adding pensioner, meant that at most she could expect a nurse to visit her in her ward once a day to make sure she hadn''t died and to fill up the slow drip of sedatives and painkillers. Matthew worked for the very same company that made the medicines, although he worked in a different division entirely. Citizens didn''t mix with the four fifties. He could imagine the hundreds of scurrying workers doing their mono-tasked jobs in the artificial light of the factory floor before returning to their in-house bunks to rest and do it all again the next day. Matthew rarely saw those workers, they didn''t have citizenship but private companies'' grounds were not beholden to national laws, they were in effect their own micronations. Matthew wondered what it would be like to work in their position as indentured workers, instead of as a legal citizen, if the grass was greener on the other side. He shook his head and snorted, he had a great life and he should be thankful for it. The shock jock blathered on.


    Not far to go now. Only a couple of city blocks until Matthew arrived and could set about finding a park. Naturally all the cheaper ones would be gone so he would have to pay for the convenience of being closer to the security gates. At least he would get some of his work done.


    Another bulletin on the radio, the terrorism threat was raised to high. Members of some undisclosed leftist political group were suspected of planning an unspecified terrorist attack on government offices sometime in the near future. Two unnamed suspects had been brought into custody by security forces contracted by the Justice and Religion Minster''s office, but several other conspirators were suspected to be at large and may undertake retributive attacks. Extra security forces would be contracted as a result.


    Matthew rolled his eyes; every time extra security forces were deployed it meant an increase in security levies and more delays as the helmeted goons searched cars and houses. The levies weren''t taxes though; actual taxes were at the lowest rate in history. Everyone had to pull their weight in these difficult times.


    Those lefties should all be shot. That would solve the problem.


    There was a break in the traffic as the morning congestion began to clear out. The crawl became a limp. The limp became a steady march. Finally, Matthew arrived at the government sector. Luck was with him today, he found a park that would only cost a hundred dollars for the day and was little more than a ten-minute walk from the office blocks where he worked. He carefully fitted his re-breather, collected his satchel from the passenger seat and stepped out of the car.


    The hot, foetid air blew his hair out of place, the premature grey growing black with micro particles of soot and grime. The monstrous noise of a growling, moaning city assaulted his ears as Matthew Jackson strode purposely towards the dull, ugly buildings set apart for the government''s outsourced financial activities in this city.


    A blank masked guard stood in front of the automatic doors, a drooling quivering security dog held tightly by its leash. Matthew could see the lesions on its feet and between its toes from exposure to the pollutants, or maybe the drugs they fed them to keep them alert and aggressive. The goggles on its eyes almost made it look comical.


    Matthew held out his ID badge and the blank faced guard waved him through without a word. The foyer was silent as Matthew Jackson entered one of the twenty elevators and pressed the button for his floor.


    He smiled at the company logo emblazoned on his work shirt.


    Mc Government Administration?


    Only twelve hours to go until the day was over.


    It could have been worse.


    The socialists could have won.

 Death of the Unions

    "Fuck off you scabs."


    Once the cry had power, once it was strong. Now, the disheveled bums sitting across the street from the Adelaide SeaCorp Munitions Plant muttering garbled obscenities at the new breed of employee were a sad reminder of a dead ideal.


    Shuffling along in the line, Adrian sneered derisively at the filthy man in his ragged hi-vis vest and moth eaten overalls as he moved through the gate on his way to work. Life was good for Adrian, he had made his monthly KPIs and was looking forward to a tidy bonus, that would be four in a row and that meant he was on the fast track to promotion. His hi-vis vest was still new and stiff, the chafing only made Adrian think of one thing.


    Success.


    The acrid air smelt of burning metal and mixed chemicals, Adrian breathed it in as he arrived at his computer cubicle. He had been here for five months, a short while but certainly enough to get him noticed. Adrian knew he was the best performer on the floor, confidential emails told him so. His ability to multi-task and his willingness to work extra hours to exceed targets had no doubt impressed leadership. He had seen them watching from the high platforms above the immense open plan office where Adrian worked, The Grid as it was known.


    He jammed himself into the service elevator with two dozen other employees. Grey faced, clean shaven, all wearing hi-vis vests over white shirts and blue ties. All sporting the neat, slick hair-style of the aspirational class.


    Adrian looked around, smug in the knowledge that he was an alpha among these competitors. He raised his eyebrow quizzically as he saw Jacobs wore a similar, confident smile to Adrian''s own.


    Had someone whispered in his ear too?


    It didn''t matter though, soon, all the overtime, all the sleepless nights, it would all be worth it.


    Once he made it, Zoe would come back.


    It left a bitter taste in his mouth of course, she didn''t understand that he was doing it all for her. She didn''t understand that success required sacrifices. What more did she want?


    So selfish and short sighted of her.


    It was obvious though, she wasn''t happy that Adrian only came home for a day a month, the rest of the time he stayed across the street at the SeaCorp Dorms, a city block worth of high-rise apartments. The cost was a substantial amount of Adrian''s salary but after this month, it would all be worth it. Just a couple of years on the fast track and Adrian would be a foreman, which meant a personalized contract with all the perks. One day, Adrian would take old Galagis'' job. The company would reward his effort and his loyalty.


    The elevator made a funny sound and juddered to a halt, a popping click sound resounded somewhere above that made the clutch of men look up and about, wondering what it was.


    The elevator dropped like a stone, the lights went out and emergency lighting came on, covering the workers in a ruddy glow. Men panicked but could go nowhere.


    Adrian screamed.


    The elevator hit the ground, fifteen floors down.


    The SeaCorp Lawyer sat across from the manager of the Adelaide SeaCorp Munitions factory. Both of their faces were grim.


    "It was a serious incident Mr. Galagis." Stated the lawyer, tapping long, smooth fingers on the table.


    Brian Galagis looked at the perfectly cut nails on those fingers, at the impeccable attention to detail they spoke of and nodded. "Yes."


    The lawyer, Anton Primus, continued, his voice cultured and even toned.


    "There may be some community concern that the factory has been neglecting its corporate responsibilities and that further losses could be sustained."


    "Yes, I understand." Replied Galagis.


    "The matter of compensation needs to be attended to......." Began Primus.Stolen novel; please report.


    "To the workers? Or their families?" queried Brian, touching a finger to his forehead as he thought of the dead and injured.


    Primus said nothing for a second, regarding Brian Galagis with a stern eye although the corner of his mouth moved upwards in a barely suppressed smile.


    "Neither Mr. Galagis, the company directors are disappointed that the situation caused the factory to momentarily cease production. They fear profits may have been compromised."


    Brian Galagis gave a little peep of shock. He had been prepared to cut corners for SeaCorp, to save costs, he had worked the employees hard to make targets, but he knew he would have to take responsibility when the accident occurred.


    "Okay...." Brian began, unsure what to say next.


    "We are aware that you possess, not inconsiderable personal assets Mr. Galagis, section 32c of your work place contract states that in the event of company loss, you may be required to provide reimbursement to SeaCorp as responsible party."


    Galagis spluttered in shock. "You''re blaming this on me? SeaCorp gave the order to cease the maintenance contracts."


    Anton Primus remained unmoved. His dark eyes remained fixed on Brian Galagis''. "SeaCorp has hired you as an independent contractor to oversee the management of the Adelaide SeaCorp Munitions facility, you are solely responsible for any activity that attracts litigation against the facility and or SeaCorp."


    Brian stood up as he was overcome with anger. "You''ve got to be kidding me, SeaCorp is suing me for following SeaCorp''s orders? That''s bullshit, I want a lawyer, do I even get a lawyer, aren''t you my lawyer?"


    Primus sighed, tiredly. "Under normal circumstances SeaCorp would provide you with a lawyer, however; as this particular action against you is from SeaCorp itself it has been decided that would be a conflict of interest and we will not be able to represent you."


    Brian thought as quickly as he could. "So can I hire my own lawyer?"


    "No," said Primus impassively. "Your contract states that all legal, financial and housing services required by said employee, namely you, will be designated and handled by SeaCorp Human Resources Pty Ltd. As a result, you will have to represent yourself at the hearing. SeaCorp has jurisdiction in this matter as it happened on Company property, therefore SeaCorp Justice Inc. will administer the trial."


    Brian knew where this was heading. The writing was on the wall.


    "So, what about my family then?"


    "How do you mean?"


    "I''m going to have to represent myself against SeaCorp in a trial arbitrated by SeaCorp with my assets to be seized by SeaCorp.... What is going to happen to my family?"


    Primus took a deep breath and adjusted his tie at the collar, then he spoke.


    "As is company policy, in the event that an employee is unable to discharge the full measure of a debt owed to SeaCorp, we are justified in requiring said employee to undertake indentured employment at a facility of our choosing, in the event that said employee has dependents he will be allowed to have them join him in indentured employment in order to expedite rapid payment of debt. That''s ah, Section 147 J, I think.... I''d have to check."


    Brian looked down and braced himself for what would come next.


    "How much will I owe?" he whispered.


    Anton Primus had known Brian would want a number, he had always been a practical man and served the company well for over twenty years. A pity, but debts must be paid.


    "The auditors estimated that the total value of lost profits comes to the equivalent of forty-two billion dollars, give or take."


    "The plant was shut down for two hours" exploded Brian, his rage returning. "How the fuck is it that much?"


    "That''s not including accrued interest of course. The company is prepared to reduce the sum by five percent if you can pay it in a single upfront payment."


    "This is bullshit!" raged Brian, ineffectually. Anton Primus continued passionlessly, a master of his craft.


    "Loss includes actual production lost in addition to the cost of public relations needs, share-holder insurance, the cost of auditing the cost of loss and naturally, my lawyer fees, administrative costs and miscellaneous costs, in addition to interest accrued before the matter is settled. In time, that would be approximately one point one five million years'' total service calculated at two dollars and seventy cents per hour, standard minimal wage. Of course if your family join you the time will be shorter."


    A tear rolled down Brian''s face as he stared into the oblivion of his family''s lives. His shoulders slumped and he slowly sank back into his chair.


    "Thank you for being so understanding Mr. Galagis" said Anton Primus pleasantly as he stood up to leave. "I''ll see you in court tomorrow."


    Adrian watched the line of workers in their freshly pressed shirts and hi-vis vests file into the Adelaide SeaCorp Munitions factory. He hated them all. His dirty fingers scrabbled through his pockets to find a cigarette butt that he had been saving. It had been five months and he was still here, still waiting for compensation, still waiting for his day in court to get back something after SeaCorp took it all. Not a cent of compensation for the accident, the medical bills had broken him and he''d lost his apartment and car trying to stay afloat. Zoe was gone too, good riddance to bad women thought Adrian. He should have been someone, there should be rules to protect him, he was just doing his job, he was a good man; he had worked hard....... he was replaceable.


    "Fucking scabs!" he roared at the shuffling line. It was a mighty roar of defiance in Adrian''s ears but to the freshly shaven, grey faced men going to work in the pre-dawn light it was a pitiful, mewling wail from a no-hope cripple. A nobody, who didn''t have what it takes to succeed, to be one of the aspirational class. They all knew that their hard work would pay off, the company was looking out for them and as long as they made their KPIs, success was assured.

 The Flood

    I remember the day the waves came.


    We knew it was coming, but what could we do? As we sat at home, watching on the TV that day in 2047 we talked about it on social media, we made jokes about how many people would die.


    "Lol" we said "As if the water could get this high, it''s all just a lefty plot."


    Even when the worst came, we thought then that something would be done to save us. That perhaps the government would swoop down and make some emergency effort to hold back the waves or to evacuate us all, with our belongings, to somewhere safe and that eventually life would go back to normal. We thought that our greatest worries would be who won the latest reality show or the outcome of Survivor, Antarctica.


    I didn''t die when the waves came. I sat right here, on the balcony of my ninth floor apartment as the water rose, I watched it as it came over the foreshore and streamed into the streets of Glenelg. I watched as the cars started to get washed in land and the people either fled or got dragged under the rising flood.


    I couldn''t move when it happened. It was like some sort of obscene, unrealistic dream which I could wake up from.


    Which I could ignore


    A dream


    How could we have been so blind?


    So many years the scientists and "concerned citizens" had been telling us that we were going too far, that the planet was changing, that if we didn''t act it would all be ruined.


    Well, we didn''t listen; not really. We only cared about the tanking economy and the oil wars in the Middle East, while our leaders argued about how to combat the threat of the Neo-Reich and the Islamic Freedom Movement and the government seconded all its responsibilities to private corporations to save on the bottom line. We ignored it with game shows and the ever present production lines of "reality" TV, contrived and impossible situations cast on camera as normal and desirable.


    We ignored the real threats.


    We ignored the changes in our rights to protest and fight back, we didn''t care.


    We ignored the legislation that sold our food production and resources away to faceless conglomerates, we didn''t care for that either.


    When they started mining the Antarctic and a cold snap made them think the only way to reach the oil beneath was with a new thermochemical reactive bomb, we barely looked away from our screens.


    The company responsible, a joint venture of some of the most successful venture capitalists and oil barons of the 21st century, had assured the governments of the USA, the UK and Greater Russia that they had conducted rigorous, exhaustive tests to make sure there would be no fallout, that we would have first go at a new source of fuel, enough for another hundred years. Australia''s dying science group, the CSIRO had argued against it but the sanctions immediately imposed by the Pacific Economic Lobby stopped that and the CSIRO was finally dissolved. The Australian government meekly did as it was bid and set the project up.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Egged on by shock-jocks, people wrote letters of support to the papers, our government basked in a popularity not seen since the 1970s as the population, drip fed only the choicest bits of positive spin; eagerly toasted the opening of the first Antarctic oil drilling complex and refinery. It was to be a triumph for both Australia and for the new conglomerate called SeaCorp Industries.


    Three days, that''s how long it took before the accident happened. They still don''t know why. The whole damn factory exploded out there and dropped a nuclear core that set the subterranean oil on fire. That''s what people said anyway.


    Then the ice started to melt. Not like the scientists had said it would slowly, giving us time to change. It melted in hours. The milder summer airs left it vulnerable as the shock of fires and explosions in the plant set off long dead volcanoes. Overnight Antarctica became a steaming, sulphuric nightmare. We saw the clouds in Adelaide, dark and rushing outward from the south.


    We weren''t told to escape though; we weren''t told to flee.


    As phones rang around the world, Canberra was issued a directive from the World Bank and International Monetary Fund. Don''t evacuate the people and firewall the media.


    That it would ruin consumer confidence and share-prices would fall if there was a panic and quarterly reports were due.


    The big media players complied. They sat on their hands as the waves crossed the ocean floor and the storm front of acid rain drew in close; to seal our doom. We''re told they were rewarded for their decision, bad news sells better anyway. The smaller independent media groups put out the word and so the people that listened to them had a chance to pack up and run. It wasn''t much but it helped.


    It didn''t help us, we never listened to the little guys; our news came from Vulpixxx, the biggest media service on the planet.


    I guess it figures they wouldn''t tell us.


    Fingers in too many pies


    The big boys, the ones with trust funds and solid connections, they sold up, they sold up and got out, almost overnight. All over the world they did that, abandoned their waterfronts and headed for the hills.


    Literally


    They had always been ready. They moved inland abandoning their waterfront homes and transferring their wealth electronically to the high ground in places like Switzerland. The Caymans went bankrupt overnight.


    In the morning, the waves came.


    The waves came and we died.


    I watched it all from here, the ninth floor of my apartment in Glenelg.


    The wind grew strong and the rain began to fall, hissing as it burned the plastic setting outside my window. The waves reached in over the beach and dragged away the sands, then washed higher like a cold green claw. They got as high as the seventh floor and I thought I was going to die, that they would never stop; but there was no way I could escape. No way that I could go.


    I''m still here though.


    I''ve never really left.


    I don''t have power now, I find shellfish to eat, I use a raft to trade them for water with some of the other oldies, some of us never found the will to leave; where would we go? To the place they call Scumtown? That cesspit of murder and violence and crime? To the silver city that sprang up as soon as the waves died down and the air calmed? The big boys were back and they took all that remained, pushing the homeless down into the flooded streets or North onto the swamped, stinking plains and towards the Barossa.


    The few others that had stayed helped us all to survive, we rigged a little solar panel thing up to give us a bit of power and Jim made a water still we can all share.


    It''s like our own little remote community, in sight of paradise and completely out of mind.


    A few have died since then and we gave them to the waves, the water is deep enough to bring in the sharks and the seals; they take the bodies down deep, so we don''t see them again.


    We can see the Scumtowners poling little rafts further toward the hills, they don''t usually come this far out though and they know not to bring trouble. We''re too old to want new "friends" out here.


    Oh well.


    I think I''m just happy to die here. In my little island of the dead past, in a sea of the flooded future.


    I still think what might have been.


    If we had have cared for just a while, when it mattered.

 Death of the Unions

    "Fuck off you scabs."


    Once the cry had power, once it was strong. Now, the disheveled bums sitting across the street from the Adelaide SeaCorp Munitions Plant muttering garbled obscenities at the new breed of employee were a sad reminder of a dead ideal.


    Shuffling along in the line, Adrian sneered derisively at the filthy man in his ragged hi-vis vest and moth eaten overalls as he moved through the gate on his way to work. Life was good for Adrian, he had made his monthly KPIs and was looking forward to a tidy bonus, that would be four in a row and that meant he was on the fast track to promotion. His hi-vis vest was still new and stiff, the chafing only made Adrian think of one thing.


    Success.


    The acrid air smelt of burning metal and mixed chemicals, Adrian breathed it in as he arrived at his computer cubicle. He had been here for five months, a short while but certainly enough to get him noticed. Adrian knew he was the best performer on the floor, confidential emails told him so. His ability to multi-task and his willingness to work extra hours to exceed targets had no doubt impressed leadership. He had seen them watching from the high platforms above the immense open plan office where Adrian worked, The Grid as it was known.


    He jammed himself into the service elevator with two dozen other employees. Grey faced, clean shaven, all wearing hi-vis vests over white shirts and blue ties. All sporting the neat, slick hair-style of the aspirational class.


    Adrian looked around, smug in the knowledge that he was an alpha among these competitors. He raised his eyebrow quizzically as he saw Jacobs wore a similar, confident smile to Adrian''s own.


    Had someone whispered in his ear too?


    It didn''t matter though, soon, all the overtime, all the sleepless nights, it would all be worth it.


    Once he made it, Zoe would come back.


    It left a bitter taste in his mouth of course, she didn''t understand that he was doing it all for her. She didn''t understand that success required sacrifices. What more did she want?


    So selfish and short sighted of her.


    It was obvious though, she wasn''t happy that Adrian only came home for a day a month, the rest of the time he stayed across the street at the SeaCorp Dorms, a city block worth of high-rise apartments. The cost was a substantial amount of Adrian''s salary but after this month, it would all be worth it. Just a couple of years on the fast track and Adrian would be a foreman, which meant a personalized contract with all the perks. One day, Adrian would take old Galagis'' job. The company would reward his effort and his loyalty.


    The elevator made a funny sound and juddered to a halt, a popping click sound resounded somewhere above that made the clutch of men look up and about, wondering what it was.


    The elevator dropped like a stone, the lights went out and emergency lighting came on, covering the workers in a ruddy glow. Men panicked but could go nowhere.


    Adrian screamed.


    The elevator hit the ground, fifteen floors down.


    The SeaCorp Lawyer sat across from the manager of the Adelaide SeaCorp Munitions factory. Both of their faces were grim.


    "It was a serious incident Mr. Galagis." Stated the lawyer, tapping long, smooth fingers on the table.


    Brian Galagis looked at the perfectly cut nails on those fingers, at the impeccable attention to detail they spoke of and nodded. "Yes."


    The lawyer, Anton Primus, continued, his voice cultured and even toned.


    "There may be some community concern that the factory has been neglecting its corporate responsibilities and that further losses could be sustained."


    "Yes, I understand." Replied Galagis.


    "The matter of compensation needs to be attended to......." Began Primus.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    "To the workers? Or their families?" queried Brian, touching a finger to his forehead as he thought of the dead and injured.


    Primus said nothing for a second, regarding Brian Galagis with a stern eye although the corner of his mouth moved upwards in a barely suppressed smile.


    "Neither Mr. Galagis, the company directors are disappointed that the situation caused the factory to momentarily cease production. They fear profits may have been compromised."


    Brian Galagis gave a little peep of shock. He had been prepared to cut corners for SeaCorp, to save costs, he had worked the employees hard to make targets, but he knew he would have to take responsibility when the accident occurred.


    "Okay...." Brian began, unsure what to say next.


    "We are aware that you possess, not inconsiderable personal assets Mr. Galagis, section 32c of your work place contract states that in the event of company loss, you may be required to provide reimbursement to SeaCorp as responsible party."


    Galagis spluttered in shock. "You''re blaming this on me? SeaCorp gave the order to cease the maintenance contracts."


    Anton Primus remained unmoved. His dark eyes remained fixed on Brian Galagis''. "SeaCorp has hired you as an independent contractor to oversee the management of the Adelaide SeaCorp Munitions facility, you are solely responsible for any activity that attracts litigation against the facility and or SeaCorp."


    Brian stood up as he was overcome with anger. "You''ve got to be kidding me, SeaCorp is suing me for following SeaCorp''s orders? That''s bullshit, I want a lawyer, do I even get a lawyer, aren''t you my lawyer?"


    Primus sighed, tiredly. "Under normal circumstances SeaCorp would provide you with a lawyer, however; as this particular action against you is from SeaCorp itself it has been decided that would be a conflict of interest and we will not be able to represent you."


    Brian thought as quickly as he could. "So can I hire my own lawyer?"


    "No," said Primus impassively. "Your contract states that all legal, financial and housing services required by said employee, namely you, will be designated and handled by SeaCorp Human Resources Pty Ltd. As a result, you will have to represent yourself at the hearing. SeaCorp has jurisdiction in this matter as it happened on Company property, therefore SeaCorp Justice Inc. will administer the trial."


    Brian knew where this was heading. The writing was on the wall.


    "So, what about my family then?"


    "How do you mean?"


    "I''m going to have to represent myself against SeaCorp in a trial arbitrated by SeaCorp with my assets to be seized by SeaCorp.... What is going to happen to my family?"


    Primus took a deep breath and adjusted his tie at the collar, then he spoke.


    "As is company policy, in the event that an employee is unable to discharge the full measure of a debt owed to SeaCorp, we are justified in requiring said employee to undertake indentured employment at a facility of our choosing, in the event that said employee has dependents he will be allowed to have them join him in indentured employment in order to expedite rapid payment of debt. That''s ah, Section 147 J, I think.... I''d have to check."


    Brian looked down and braced himself for what would come next.


    "How much will I owe?" he whispered.


    Anton Primus had known Brian would want a number, he had always been a practical man and served the company well for over twenty years. A pity, but debts must be paid.


    "The auditors estimated that the total value of lost profits comes to the equivalent of forty-two billion dollars, give or take."


    "The plant was shut down for two hours" exploded Brian, his rage returning. "How the fuck is it that much?"


    "That''s not including accrued interest of course. The company is prepared to reduce the sum by five percent if you can pay it in a single upfront payment."


    "This is bullshit!" raged Brian, ineffectually. Anton Primus continued passionlessly, a master of his craft.


    "Loss includes actual production lost in addition to the cost of public relations needs, share-holder insurance, the cost of auditing the cost of loss and naturally, my lawyer fees, administrative costs and miscellaneous costs, in addition to interest accrued before the matter is settled. In time, that would be approximately one point one five million years'' total service calculated at two dollars and seventy cents per hour, standard minimal wage. Of course if your family join you the time will be shorter."


    A tear rolled down Brian''s face as he stared into the oblivion of his family''s lives. His shoulders slumped and he slowly sank back into his chair.


    "Thank you for being so understanding Mr. Galagis" said Anton Primus pleasantly as he stood up to leave. "I''ll see you in court tomorrow."


    Adrian watched the line of workers in their freshly pressed shirts and hi-vis vests file into the Adelaide SeaCorp Munitions factory. He hated them all. His dirty fingers scrabbled through his pockets to find a cigarette butt that he had been saving. It had been five months and he was still here, still waiting for compensation, still waiting for his day in court to get back something after SeaCorp took it all. Not a cent of compensation for the accident, the medical bills had broken him and he''d lost his apartment and car trying to stay afloat. Zoe was gone too, good riddance to bad women thought Adrian. He should have been someone, there should be rules to protect him, he was just doing his job, he was a good man; he had worked hard....... he was replaceable.


    "Fucking scabs!" he roared at the shuffling line. It was a mighty roar of defiance in Adrian''s ears but to the freshly shaven, grey faced men going to work in the pre-dawn light it was a pitiful, mewling wail from a no-hope cripple. A nobody, who didn''t have what it takes to succeed, to be one of the aspirational class. They all knew that their hard work would pay off, the company was looking out for them and as long as they made their KPIs, success was assured.