I'll keep it brief. For the next thirty-three weeks, maybe less, I will publish a part of a chapter of my first novel, Get a Job, Todd!, that was published on Amazon earlier this year. Some grammar alterations are likely, so I suppose this is a second edition of sorts. Anyway, enjoy the silly little tale of Todd Jacobson and his fun quest for purpose.
***
The door opened with a squeak, jolting Todd out of his thoughts. In the hallway walked a young blonde doctor pushing a metal cart. She turned her body to close the door behind her, and the motion of her body made Todd’s mind explode.
Having little to no experience with women his entire life, Todd had slowly but surely idolized them to an incredible and dangerous degree. As the doctor said her ‘hellos' and began small talk, Todd’s mind was infested with lustful, dehumanizing thoughts. In that moment, the doctor was not a woman or a human being at all, but an object to project his every weird, unknowledgeable, unrealistic sexual and pseudo-infantalistic desire. Someone he could get something out of, or more accurately get something into.
Her eyes were blue, like his mothers.
Despite all the work she had put into her career of being a scientist and doctor - MD and PhD - for the government funded space program to save humanity, despite being one of the very few people left on this dead rock with an actual brain, despite trying to save said doomed planet most people seemed apathetic to fix, she was still seen as nothing but an object for this dirty, naked man-boy sitting on the cold metal table in front of her. And she could tell.
She rolled her eyes to glance at his record, which made her lips curl in a devious smile. Men like him had been coming through The Center the past few days, and unfortunately predatory glares were nothing too out of the ordinary. Distasteful, annoying, but ultimately harmless.
She may not have thought the same if these pathetic excuses of men were meant to stay on Earth, but their destinations would be a good enough punishment for their actions. She nearly snapped at the first few men who couldn't collect their jaws from the floor, but the impulse slowly disappeared thanks to the two bearable parts of her job.
Knowledge, and more importantly, money.
It was the information she kept from Todd and the other applicants that made the disrespect and harassment slightly more bearable in the short term. She thought of it as justice.
Unfortunately for Todd and everyone else who was assailed by the USSP-INC’s commercials, their real destinations were far from the Martian soil that was advertised.
The Red Planet was far too highly valued property for the likes of Todd and the other debtors who sold their soul for progress. No, Mars had known problems and habitation was definitely possible - and underway with the current construction of New Musk City - but it was to be inhabited only by those CEOs who had the privileged knowledge that Earth was in its last years. Property and deeds for the red soil was to be auctioned out only to the Privileged, the true hard workers.
‘The Sisyphus Project,’ as it was known, would only accept those with a red mark on their permanent record. Each applicant with such a mark would be sent to a planet with a 5% habitability probability. Todd’s planet, XPX-4921 B, sat just on the outer edge of its little yellow sun’s habitable zone. A cold rock that had a mere 2% chance of supporting life.
Due to his exemplified status of ‘unemployed’ - the most common permanent red mark - Todd’s application for the project was accepted, tout de suite.
The doctor beamed at that red ink. Slackjaw Todd over here might be ‘in heaven’ now - according to his sick, misogynist mind - but very soon he will be dying of starvation alone on an alien planet that has a very high likelihood of being uninhabitable.
Dead on a rock in space. Serves him right.
She allowed the knowledge to fuel her the past few weeks through the many, many men who refused to keep their eyes to themselves, letting cynical detachment grow into spiteful glee.
If only all the creeps on the Earth signed up for this program so we could shoot them out into the depths of space, never to return. This thought was not uncommon, and always widened her smile when it rattled through her head.
Money was the second thing that made the job bearable. Not that there were any real options outside Government owned, Amazon contracted jobs in the science fields that would allow her to survive at all, the pay was fair enough. Nothing too grand, nothing like the salary of a CEO, but respectable - helpful enough in beginning the process in paying off the mountains of student loan debt accrued from her long years of dedicated study for the betterment of mankind.
Aside from handsome bonus for the demeaning patient work that went along with the Doctor’s responsibilities, all medical personnel working for the Sisyphus Project and related programs were given assurance by Amazon’s top ‘Trust and Accountability Representatives’ that they were to be sent to Mars just as soon as the Earth was sick and tired of supporting life - a deadline which rapidly approached. Couldn’t be more than ten years, or so said most estimates.
Todd’s Doctor shivered, her smile momentarily shattered by a stone grimace, gut gurgling. All those years of school had made her mind a machine of logic, not nearly as oblivious to the dishonesty of her supervisors as the troglodytes the government is used to lying to. Despite herself, intuition roared. With a grunt, she shook her head and re-plastered plastic placidity on her lips. Now was not the time to dwell on gut feelings of mistrust, better to just believe the representatives on this one and focus on her next opportunity to make some money.
“I see here on your chart that you opted out of the Genetic Sharing Program…” she said, blinking her eye lids more than she needed to while tilting her head downward. She let her tone fill with disappointment, speaking slowly and carefully, “Why’s that Todd?”
His mouth began to move before any sounds came out. “I - uhhh… Well… I didn’t thi-think it would uh… be, y-you know… just… not something that I w-would want to… s-share… so I s- said no…” His blue eyes found the floor.
“Awww…” This was a special kind of idiot, the poor man had definitely read the document - more than what most would do, but breaking him wouldn't be too hard. “It’s okay Todd! It’s a very safe procedure and, really, not scary I promise. Just a simple signature right here, and the USSP-INC will have the rights for your genetic data!”
“Wh- well that’s exactly why I d-” He said with a slight chuckle.
“It’s okay you really don’t need to be scared!” she overloaded her voice with saccharine tones, “Even I’ve signed it Todd.”
This was true, her name was signed on the dotted line as a part of her application. “You know what they say,” she added to Todd, “sharing is caring.”
Todd’s eyes darted around quickly, “I… just don’t know… can I say n-”
“Oh! Well, let’s get this procedure underway and we can talk about all that in a minute okay, hun?” He may not be as pliable as she had expected, some idiots were harder to crack. Better to stop him right there and come back to this later. “Are you ready?”
“Uhh…” The poor dolt’s eyes drifted to her chest.
“Mr. Jacobson?”
He snapped out of his stupor and replied with a sad, slurred, “Uhhh, yes?” Eyes drifting up to meet hers for a moment before shaking his head quickly. With a face flushed red, he continued softly. “Yes I am ready.”
Crossing her arms over herself, she straightened up, “Good! Well, I am going to give you this tiny little shot, okay?”
The fake, flimsy smile she had practiced in the mirror before entering the room dropped suddenly as she whipped around to grab the syringe from the cart sitting by the door. Her performative facial gesture made a feeble attempt at returning after her hands gripped the cold metal, but she could feel the muscles in her cheeks beginning to fail.
After this dolt was wrapped up and done with, it would be seven down, three left - before lunch - then another eleven procedures scheduled in the afternoon.
With a breath, she cemented the smile back on her face. One idiot at a time, and all this little needle needed to do was get past this one’s skin and she’d be one step closer to that gloriously thirty minute lunch break. She was beginning to think it didn't matter much where she stabbed it.
Turning around once more and walking towards him, she threatened through a tightly gripped smile, teeth clenched, “I’m just gonna poke you right here.”
Briefly the doctor held the needle aloft and tapped the side with her finger. A bubble of air released from the depths of the blue liquid inside, and creeped up the glass towards the top before escaping quietly through the small hole at the end of the needle point. The liquid caught the light and the spear tip shimmered in the fluorescents of the sterile room.
During her training weeks ago, the AI supervising director told her very plainly to not, under any circumstances, inject the cryo-preparation serum into the patient's dominant arm - as the formula’s limited and rushed testing resulted in some potential long term side effects, including permanent nerve damage. She quickly glanced at his chart to double check.
‘Right Hand Dominant,’ just like she thought.
Todd shook his head with a lazy, pathetic attempt at an aloof, charismatic grin. Gas bubbled up from his stomach and his head swirled. In sympathy with the syringe, a sad, painful burp passed through his lightly closed lips before he squeaked out a weak affirmative to the Doctor’s proclamation.
“Great,” she said underneath her breath. Tapping the syringe once more, she walked straight over to Todd’s right arm.
Typically, she would give the subject a topical numbing agent to ease the pain of the needle, but something told her that she didn’t have to - morally that is. Maybe it was her grandma’s voice, maybe it was her own.
Piercing the skin, the needle slid into the thin veins in Todd’s right arm, the plunger dropped, and the blue liquid once housed in the glass vial began its invasion. Only when all of the chemical cocktail was released did it take an abrupt right turn straight to his heart. Pain shot through him, starting seemingly from two places, one after another.
The first pain careened through his body, emanating out like a web from his heart. Waves of fire echoed in pulses of three. Every time they hit his head he heard a crow’s call.
The second pain began shortly after. Dull and slow, creeping at first. Then, in a matter of seconds, it overtook his right arm. Alight in a bright hot inferno, Todd thought the whole appendage may fall off. Then he thought his entire right side would collapse into itself. Then he wished it would.
Tendrils of excruciating pain grew from his arm into his chest, leaving a dull numbness when they had gone. Within a half minute, the secondary pain found its sharp older sibling in the center left of his chest. Dancing in a swirl, the two mingled on his most vital organ, birthing one entirely new, entirely horrible beast.
Todd’s poor body quaked with pain, numbness, pain, numbness, and pain again. Over and over in similar waves of three, only subsiding after five horrific minutes. Slithering tendrils retreated somewhere deep within him.
Though he wouldn't know it, Todd had been convulsing the entire time. His arms flailed, legs kicked, mouth frothed like a rabid animal, before his body suddenly was shot into stillness. A sad sight for most, but the doctor couldn't help quietly laughing the whole time, a gloved hand over her mouth. She smiled as his body twitched in pain, it wouldn’t stop until the numbness took effect.
Serves him right. While she didn’t always like to enjoy taking pleasure in others' pain, something about the way this particular asshole squirmed was hilarious. As unaware as he was of his convulsions, so was she of her own light laughter.
As he lay still, she counted her lucky stars that she gets to be paid for something like this.
The pathetic man’s body found stillness on the table, and Todd regained a sense of foggy, distant awareness. A goofy smile widened over his face. The drug had a euphoric effect, and he would be much easier to manipulate now…
Todd blinked off his traumatizing experience and his glassy eyes found the Doctor once more, her face framed by a halo of golden hair. He thought she was an angel, but he would have thought that for just about anyone at this moment.
She manufactured a giggle that sent shivers down Todd’s unresponsive spine, “So… I need you to sign something… which I know might be hard,” the doctor took long, measured pauses between speaking, each time flicking her eyes down at his frozen, helpless body, “but as long as you give some kind of… consent,” she paused once more and allowed their eyes to meet, watching him nearly drool at the many god awful thoughts that must be running around his mind, “I can… take your hand… move your arm for you… just need one… little… signature...”
Like the other patients had before, the Doctor watched Todd’s eyes flick open in fear in sudden, panicked awareness.
The doctor giggled again, “Your body is numb from the serum, honey, you won’t be able to move or talk at all. You can just blink once if you’re okay with it.”
Todd blinked quicker, and with more purpose than he ever had in his entire life. She basically said she would hold his hand for free! What fool would throw that opportunity away. He’d gotten close to that level of intimacy, but the only other time the opportunity came he had thrown it away in favor of crying in a school bathroom.
“Great,” she said, picking up the forms she had set onto the table. The doctor moved up to him once again and grabbed his right arm. Todd gazed down at it. Completely numb, no feeling at all.
Imagination worked wonders. He would cry if he could.
A black ink pen was placed gently in the non-feeling hand, “I’m just gonna sign your name right here, agreeing to forfeit all the rights to your genetic code, mmkay?” The words came rushing from her mouth accompanied with a flick of her own wrist.
He’d squeal if his throat wasn’t completely numb. Before he knew it she had signed his name on the dotted line in a curly-cue print - so unlike him.
‘I, Todd H. Jacobson, Hereby grant all rights and privileges of my Genetic Code to the USSP-INC Trust, owned and facilitated by Amazon.com forever and in perpetuity.’
“Great!” She slapped the documents back on the table and pressed a button on the wall.
She turned back to Todd, asking, “Can you walk to the pod yourself?” And before mockingly waiting for a response she said, “Oh, who am I kidding, of course you can’t.”
Finally, and with great relief, she let her voice turn frigid, the demeaning part was out of the way now. No more need to fake a smile. That signature got her the $150 bonus she was promised, so all that was left was to let Markus finish the job and move on to the next impotent idiot who wanted to get shot out into space for free and hope he is as pliable as all the rest, then onto lunch.
It’s a living.
In her brief moment of satisfied musing, the door opened and a large man stepped through. Standing nearly seven feet in the air, the man - perhaps better described as an ox - slowly stomped forward until he loomed inches over Todd’s face. Chiseled and clean compared to his own ratty and grease covered face, he couldn't help feeling completely and immediately emasculated. A high pitched whimper echoed in the room, shuttering out from deep inside Todd’s belly.
“This is Markus,” the doctor introduced, “and he will be taking you to the cryogenics pod, mmkay?” Her blue eyes, which once looked like blueberries to Todd, now seemed very much like they were made of ice.
Markus, the beast of a man, picked Todd from the table and slung him over his enormous shoulder. Neither of them felt a thing.
He was carried out of the small room and into the empty hallway. The footsteps of the man echoed through the sterile white halls, in sync with the clacking of the Doctor’s heels following somewhere behind them.
After what seemed like an eternity of floating through the hallways, Markus’ forceful footfalls finally found a door that fell open for them. Inside was nothing but an open black pod.
He stepped in and gently placed Todd inside the smooth black cylinder which dominated the center of the tight space. Though Todd couldn't feel the padding inside the cryogenesis pod, if he could he would have recognized it as the same material his bed was made out of, sold by Amazon essentials - ‘Worker’s Goodnight Sleep,’ the material was called.
Only moments after Markus had placed Todd into the pod, the doctor came back into his field of vision.
“I’m going to close you in now, okay?” Todd couldn’t help but be terrified of her now, though he wasn't sure why. She continued with her new, icy tone, “If there’s anything you want to tell me, now’s the time.”
Todd realized how pathetic he really was when the best he could get out was a dull, sad, “hnnnggghhhh.”
“That’s what I thought,” the doctor shut the lid.
Todd wondered if he had fed his dog or not, maybe the crows would do him another favor and take care of that for him. Whatever the case, his ass was still cold.
***
“Toss me the BALL Brayden!”
“You want it so bad? Huh? Well take it!”
A small half deflated orange basketball careened through the open air before hitting the side of a red, angry face with a Plap.
Very little conversation followed, as the two scientists - both still largely ceremonially dressed in their lab coats, gloves, boots, and googles - wrestled like eleven year old boys on the floor of the Sisyphus Project’s Observation and Research Center, Viewing Room #46.
These two distinguished gentlemen of two very well-to-do high class families, ensured the best education and most connected friends for any job in any field they so desired, were given the enormous opportunity and gift to be a part of this illustrious project. Both had been awarded the ‘Hard Working Family Scholarship,’ a Federal Program passed by the House in 2039. Having slammed through Harvard and Yale respectively in an easy three years, neither had any clue about any of the actual work they were doing here.
“Fuck you, Brayden!” Yelled the smaller of the two men as his leg was swept out from underneath him.
“Stop being a douche, August!” Spat back the larger of the men.
They’d been friends since the early days of college, and frequently got into such childish fights. Youngest members of each of their families, the men shared quite a lot in common - chiefly that their affluent dynasties expected absolutely nothing out of them.
The second thing they shared in common, was that they both were perfectly fine with that.
They played their little wrestle-fight game for another ten minutes, hardly noticing the red lights that began to blare in the small room.
Vessel #13027 - last year's model - was their observational charge. All they had to do all day, was to make sure that this ship, bound for XPX-4921 B, a planet with a 2% habitability percentage, did not get lost - and, if it were to be lost, to make sure that loss is reported as quickly as possible to their supervisors. Nothing else had to be done.
No other responsibilities.
No other jobs.
No other busywork.
Just watch the monitors and make sure the ship doesn’t get lost.
Needless to say, these two paragons of humanity with no dearth of resources at their disposal ushered along to the highest peak of the academic fields they could be cajoled into by their family, completely dropped the ball. Just as the half deflated orange basketball which began today’s roughhousing rolled underneath a decorative panel with all sorts of lights, so too did Todd H. Jacobson’s Pod disappear from the Sisyphus Project’s monitors.
The two were there when he was shot off Earth. Watching as it went up and up, the poor, broke fool aboard likely bound to starve on the face of some dead rock too far away from any civilization to get any help. Out and away it went, past Mars - the pair had a good laugh about that - past Juptier, Pluto, Kuiper Belt, the Oort Cloud, deep deep into the depths of the Milky Way Galaxy.
Over the next few weeks, the typical topic of conversation between the boys was the disappointment that they weren’t assigned to observe pods destined for planets like ‘Prime 2,’ ‘Gates 9,’ and ‘Investment XI.’ Those rooms were huge, much much larger than the broom closet with monitors they were shoved in. They so desperately wanted to watch a pod going somewhere with a higher habitability percentage at least. Prime 2 had a habitability rate of 99%.
The first human to step foot upon it will be none other than Jeff Bezos’s Grand Niece - what a stride for progress.
Perhaps it was this anger that allowed them to wrestle on the floor for a solid seventeen more minutes under blaring red lights before they even considered doing something about them. Their eventual decision was to turn off the alarm and continue wrestling for a while longer before reporting anything.
By the time they were done, they had completely forgotten that the alarms had gone off in the first place.
Once the enormous oversight was discovered and the men were moved to go watch some other exciting screen - their families would have pulled funding if they were canned - the directors of the project had no clue where the pod could have gone. But this ‘Todd,’ was one of thousands to be shot into space, and far from being one on the big screens, his disappearance was met with apathy.
Other such pods had crashed on asteroids, smash-landed on unmapped foreign planets, been swallowed by Strong Black Holes, or shot right into uncalculated Suns. Shit happens.
It was only decades later when humans found incredible wormholes connecting distant parts of the galaxy that the mystery could be solved. Though invariably useful for the proliferation of the human species, the origin of these space tunnels would remain a mystery for the duration of human history - they were named HyperSpace Lanes.
The entry of one of these ‘Lanes,’ the longest one ever discovered, began around a year between the Sun and Proxima Centauri. It was only then that the disappearance of #13027: Todd H. Jacobson bound for XPX-4921 B could be explained, though all those years later, no one bothered to care - let alone look for that lost pod.
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