The alarm clock’s speakers shattered the blissful peace by blasting the chorus of Highway to Hell. Chad Wilcox needed the shock to wake up at 4:30 A.M. He stood up and stretched. Every weekday for the last 10 years it went off to signal another mundane day for Chad at Hess & Hopkins Manufacturing. His wife of 15 years still laid there as the weather forecast began.
“Rose, are you getting up?” he asked, “you know I can’t be late.” She stirred as he closed the door to the bathroom. Upon completing his morning routine, he emerged to find her sitting on the edge of the bed.
“C’mon, I got ten minutes left.” He gathered his things to leave. Rose got up and made breakfast. Chad sat down to eat. “Great! You burned the toast again.” He dipped his toast in the eggs and discovered raw egg white, “and you didn’t cook the eggs enough, either.”
“If you can do better, then you are free to make your own breakfast,” she said as if reading a script.
Every morning he had the same complaint, and she had the same retort.
Rose poured some java and sat at the table in their tiny, row-house kitchen. “I need money for groceries.”
Chad opened his billfold and handed her a twenty. She stared at the bill. He hesitated and reached in his wallet again.
“That’s more like it.” She took a sip of her coffee and stood up. He gathered his tan jacket and metal lunchbox. Rose walked over to him, looked him in the eyes and their lips met.
“I gotta go or I’ll miss my bus.”
“I love you. Be careful,” and she let him escape from her arms. He turned and went out the door.
Streetlights cast irregular shadows as the chilly breeze scattered the colorful leaves down the sidewalk.
I’m on time. Everybody is still there.
The regular 5:30 group gathered under the small shelter. Traffic along Preston Street increased and exhaust fumes wafted through the crowd with each passing vehicle.
The bus rounded the corner, and the tall guy crushed a cigarette on the ground. “Perhaps we’ll get a seat this morning,” he said sarcastically. The driver pulled up, almost dousing everyone as it emptied a nearby mud puddle. The doors opened and the waiting riders entered, throwing their fares into the coin catcher.
Chad scanned for a seat, but they were all taken. He squeezed past the obese woman and the slim young man with the bib overalls to stand at his place near the exit. The third station he exited and descended into the subway.
He pushed his way through the gathered herd. Announcements blared and a train stopped for people traveling in the other direction. The crowd thinned, and he positioned himself where his car would stop.
The 13 arrived a minute later with singing wheels and brakes. The commuters rushed the wide doors and filed in. Chad grabbed his pole since riders from previous stations occupied the seats. Two stops and a block to walk to work. Half the car’s passengers abandoned the subway at the first stop and Chad sat for the last leg of his ride.
He followed the lemmings through the open doors and up the escalators. Few chatted, knowing what the day held for them. It was the same every day. Head to the lockers. Don the greasy aprons. Meander to your stations. The smell of grease, paint, cutting oil and its fumes, and dirt was ever present. The inside of the plant looked like a dark dungeon. Chad found his station and relieved the operator from the night shift.
The punch press droned on as the chorus of the other machinery attempted to drown out the paced thumping it made. The finished metal fell into the yellow bin on a pallet. Chad checked the coolant lines. Nearby, lathes and milling machines filled the air with an oily scent. He popped the orange flag out for the forklift driver. His container would soon be full.
An eerie whistle overtook the cacophony of machinery. The floor vibrated. “Hey George,” he called out to the fellow at the machine next to him, “what do you think that is?” The whistling grew louder and louder until everyone took notice.
“I’m not sure,” as he pointed, “but look.” Chad observed a worried supervisor approaching fast with dread on his face. Chad looked at everybody around him and perceived fear on their faces.
The floor trembled like an earthquake. The last thing he saw was debris flying, the foreman tumbling, and workers crashing into machinery The sound was deafening and the flash blinding.
Silence and blackness ensued…
*
The alarm clock shattered the blissful peace by blasting the chorus of Highway to Hell. Chad Wilcox stood up and stretched. Every weekday for years, it went off to signal another mundane day for Chad at work. His wife still laid there as the weather forecast began.
“Rose, are you getting up?” he asked, “you know I can’t be late.” She stirred as he closed the door to the bathroom. Upon completing his morning routine, he emerged to find her sitting on the edge of the bed.
“C’mon, I got ten minutes left.” She arose and made breakfast. Chad sat down to eat. “Great! You burned the toast again.” He dipped his toast in the eggs and discovered raw egg white, “and you didn’t cook the eggs enough, either.”
“If you can do better, then you are free to make your own breakfast,” she said as if reading a script…
*
The alarm clock shattered the blissful peace at 4:30 A.M. in the middle of Highway to Hell. Chad stood up and stretched. Another mundane day at work awaited him…
* * *
It was dark and massive. The lighting was not the best, but the chamber did not need a lot of light. The walls had cubicles that resembled honeycombs. Conduits and hoses of various colors broke the pattern of the cells. The size of the room prevented the ability to see either end of it from their vantage point.
Vandor and Saros finished their energy drinks as the specimen united with the docking station. They checked the specimen’s life support. The connections were intact. “Start diagnostics on the continuity module,” Saros said. Vandor opened the access panel and attached the red and yellow leads to the test posts.
“Make sure the cables to his brain remain secure or we’ll lose him.”
“I’ve done this before,” Vandor scowled, “stop treating me like a rookie.”
“Then be careful. There’s no telling how many more times we’ll be doing this.” Vandor checked the readings on the far-left monitors.
Saros added, “Hook up the test extractor while you’re at it.”
“Will you relax? I only have four hands!”
“Step it up, we’ll never finish. There are another 73 prisoners to check in our sector.”
Vandor rolled two of his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s always the same. I’ll be glad when the next shift gets here. I hate these long hours.”
“Don’t think about that now. Concentrate on your job. We’ll finish faster.” Saros plugged in a sabitron and fiddled with the settings. “There. That should make the input smoother. Do you have the test extractor attached yet?”
“In a minute. Be patient.”
Saros watched Vandor check the readings again. “How did we get this many specimens, anyway?” Vandor asked.
“The old numbers we abducted were not sustaining our needs. However, once the Kessian Science and Health Ministry discovered a fluid secreted by their bodies profited us, the higher-ups allowed a full-scale operation to capture every inhabitant of the planet.”
“So how long do these specimens last?”
“With the current setup, and if nobody makes a mistake, we can sustain them indefinitely,” said Saros as he adjusted the green readout.
Vandor threw two of his hands up, “That’s great! That means we’re saddled with the maintenance on them forever.” He sighed, “So now we’re stuck with this job.”
“Look at the bright side. We’ll never run out of energy drinks. Now stay focused!”
Vandor removed the leads and closed the access panels, “Are you going to adjust his life loop?”
“No. There’s no need. Programmers have already optimized his and all prisoners’ scenarios for maximum fluid secretion. Ha! They won’t be giving us any trouble. They think they are still on their planet.”
Vandor pushed the red button. Specimen #2493G271 retracted from the docking station and turned to find its cubby hole in the multitude of human specimens.
* * *
Gaiety and laughter filled the plush Rayth banquet hall. Four-armed carcasses lay roasted on enormous platters garnished with colorful fruit. “Pass me another arm, Zorg.”
“How many are you going to eat?” asked Brux.
“Does it matter? We have more than enough, ha ha ha!”
“Yeah! And ever since we showed the Kessians how to make that energy drink, they’ve never tasted better.”