Hello again, welcome to the final two parts of the second chapter of Get a Job, Todd! Not sure if I need to keep saying this with these posts, but starting this story here would likely be widely confusing and entirely unhelpful for your understanding of the narrative. So I implore you, dear reader, to make sure you are caught up with prior posts. This website is unkind to both formatting of these drafts, and of the interface through which they are read, so don't let the machines fool you. Enough of me, here's more of Todd:
Once again, Todd’s eyes snapped open. His body attempted its patented ‘upright jolt,’ but was immediately denied its performance by strong metal shackles binding his arms, legs, and neck. Their cold smoothness assailing his skin.
His eyes, being the only things left on his body that were not chained down, made a mad dash across his field of vision, exercising a practiced sweep up, down, and around the room.
They found him to be in a small, but well lit metal half-dome. A dim orange light sat flush against the ceiling overhead, casting the space in a dim, warm bath of light. It reminded him of the sunsets that he frequently ignored on his way home from work. Something he did only five days ago.
Hung on the left wall was a large box. Todd realized it was about the same size as the gym lockers in which he had spent so much of his adolescence. It was unlabeled.
Opposite the box was a flat metal table, cluttered with steel instruments of various kinds. Todd had to squint his eyes to make out the difference between the clutter and the table on which they sat.
Instinctively, Todd raised his head to look at his feet. Unfortunately for his neck and gag reflex, this movement was arrested by the smooth metal bar which wrapped itself around his throat.
Panic began to rise in his chest, forcing him to close his eyes.
Something an AI video his Health Science teacher showed him during high school ran through his mind, “If you’re ever panicked and you feel close to death, just close your eyes and focus on your breath!”
All these years later, Todd obeyed.
Each purposeful breath brought new clarity into him. Cool air now flowing in and out of his lungs, he could feel a cold flash wash away the fire of fear. With a mind running at a slower pace, now, he noticed something else...
At some point, these doctors had definitely clothed him. The worn, comfortable material of his familiar pants and tee-shirt that he had spent so many days and nights wearing back on Earth once again clung to his body. Cotton soaked with sweat.
While not the most expensive clothes on the market, a fact which still stung Todd’s Ego all these miles away from Earth, the old smell of his home wafting into his nose from the gray rags helped calm the storm of his roaring mind. Here were the scents of familiarity: Old, crusted on Amazon Essentials boxed Mac and Cheese, dog hair, cut grass, and oil from the shop at T Landscaping…
Ahhh… Todd thought, Home…
Finally, with his renewed sense of grounding from the scents of Earth, he was calm enough to start deciphering where exactly he was.
He reckoned his pod had surely landed on Mars. The Sisyphus Project directors were specialists after all, and specialists never got things wrong. In their wisdom, these doctors must have dressed him back in his clothes that he had so diligently placed in the red plastic bin back on Earth, just as he had been instructed to do. They had done so likely to save money, which Todd completely understood. Frugality is next to godliness.
Reveling with renewed comfort, his mind wandered to the next oddity in his Martian home. He moved around as much as he could in the shackles, finding that he had about a quarter inch of wiggle room between his pale skin and the smooth metal. Still much too close for comfort. That was definitely an odd thing to do to a janitor…
Quite suddenly, the solution came to him. These doctors were just treating him like anybody else who would have signed up for the program! Only those who were unemployed or otherwise unemployable were accepted, and if Todd knew anything about unemployed people, they were usually dangerous, destitute, and downright evil. It was only logical to assume they still harbored ill intent after the journey through the solar system. Shackles and isolation is how all Martian Janitors are welcomed to their new home - purely for safety reasons. Simple problems, simple solutions.
This realization came with a new worry for the mental state of his coworkers.
Shifting uncomfortably on the bed, Todd felt something sharp jab into his upper thigh. His right hand shot to investigate, but was blocked by the metal shackle. Twisting his face in annoyance, he made a mental note to check it out just as soon as he could use his arms freely.
Finding a position where the thing in his pocket could no longer stab him, a flutter began to grow in his heart. A sly grin split his face as his excitement began to build for his new job. Once a doctor got her way in here - maybe one as pretty as the one that put him to sleep back on Earth - he could convince her that all these restraints were highly unnecessary, start his training, see his quarters, and get a good night's rest.
Neither the doctors nor the AI programming that instructed him in the waiting rooms of the facility back on Earth told him exactly how long he would be in this artificial cryosleep, but it couldn’t have taken longer than a few months. Mars is just right next door.
He knew that it wouldn't feel exactly like sleep, per say, but he didn't realize just how badly it would strain his body. Every muscle ached like they never had before, dull fires spread and connected every single cell throughout his flesh. His right arm especially burned with a white heat, still gnawing into his bones. At least his ears had stopped ringing and his eyes were no longer blurry. If only the pain in his throat had gone away with the other ailments. Thankfully it wasn't getting any worse like it had before.
Head still arrested by the smooth shackle around his neck, Todd huffed. Kicking his legs was out of the question, so the fingers on his left hand took up his signature idle tapping. Barely perceptible, soft, dull clanging rang from the metal table beneath him.
Twisting back to thoughts of Earth, Todd dimly thought about his dog. In his haste to leave the planet he had forgotten to arrange anything to take care of him. Using a mind still dull from eons of frozen half slumber, he searched for the poor puppy’s name, furrowing his brow with the thought.
Goose?
That wasn’t right, no something more like…
Moose?
That was definitely closer, but still not right… He relaxed his eyebrows, and took a heaving breath. It never actually seemed to help him think but was one of the things he always saw his father do when he was filling out his tax forms late at night.
Todd had only gotten the puppy about two months before marching his ass off to be a space janitor. At the time he thought that it would make him happy, something that might fix him, but in the end it just gave him another reason to go into debt.
He had gotten the dog off of an advertisement he saw on the screens around town while heading to work one particularly lonely day.
“Get yourself a cute little buddy! They will be your best friend until you die!” The AI man had enthusiastically explained. “You’ll never have to be alone ever again!”
Due to the nature of his lifestyle, and the lifestyle of the majority of his peers, it was very difficult to find time to make a trusted group of friends. Todd was always too busy trying to work at school, or working full-time hours at a job to make time for others. Despite this hard work, he also never seemed to have enough money to enter legal social gathering places - sponsored by Amazon Public Entertainment Subsidiary Group - which were one of the few avenues left during his time as a young adult.
Having a dog, whose name was…
MOUSE!
His brain finally exclaimed with confidence and relief. A small yelp of success crawled out of his ragged throat.
Having a dog - whose name was Mouse - did help with the unrelenting force of loneliness which pervaded Todd’s every waking second… but only for a moment. When novelty wore off after a few days, all he was left with was an increased rent due to animal expenses, a new hole of debt dug by steep dog food prices, veterinary bills, and insurance, and a hefty government animal registration fee.
When all was said and done the week after Mouse’s arrival in Todd’s home, he barely had enough to feed himself. After all, getting the dog was the final financial straw that turned his eye towards USSP-INC’s Sisyphus Project.
Todd strained against his metal restraints again and, assuming he'd been laying there anywhere close to twenty to thirty minutes, he finally decided to call out to the doctors. Though they looked like terrifying, half-blurred blob monsters the last time he saw them, Todd felt very confident in his abilities to explain himself and even more so in his ability to get to work.
He took a deep breath in and felt the lingering pain in his throat.
I was screaming. His eyes suddenly widened with realization. I was screaming and waving my arms and freaking the fuck out, oh my god, he reflexively shut his eyes in shame.
That’s why they’ve got me all specially tied up I’d bet. I woke up all crazy and they think they’ve got another guaranteed psycho on their hands… Ohhh Toddy-Boy… That can’t be good.
While not quite the foot he intended to start his new vocation with, this could be fixed. He just had to find the right words to say.
Clearing his throat to begin practicing a speech, a gargling sound met his ears. In the effort of producing a sound, it seemed as though something was dislodged deep within his lungs. In a blink, a metric ton of viscous phlegm and blood erupted through his airway, pushed from below by a forceful, involuntary cough, and flowed over his tonsils to flood his mouth. Teeth clenched to dam the cavalcade, his eyes went wide, flicking with panic. With his head unable to move thanks to the neck cuff, there was no way to empty his mouth without spitting up all over his own chest. He eventually shuddered and accepted his fate, swallowing the mucus and bloody mass.
It fell like a stone.
Ignoring the shuddering feeling that swallowing had catapulted down his spine, he tried to speak once again.
Just like the last time, more phlegm and blood engulfed his teeth and tongue at the simple act of clearing his throat. Repeating the process, steeling himself to prepare for the insult he continued to give his stomach, he swallowed.
Five long hacks and five large disgusting swallows later, he finally felt confident that the most of it was out.
“Hello?” He squeaked softly. The one word question had been chosen with confidence, but squirmed its way meekly from his throat like a worm fleeing a flooding burrow. His own ears barely registered the sound at all.
Coughing again managed to scrape a half-mouth full of the muting mucus from his throat. After another regretful swallow and a few more clearings of his windpipe, he tried again.
“Hello? Anyone?” His voice bounced off the curved walls of the metal room back into his ears. The sound reverberated in the metal cuff around his neck.
“My name is Todd… and I’m your new Janitor…?” Only silence met his waiting ears.
Brow lowered, he hardened his resolve. Surely there was something he could say to get their attention. A key word, or phrase they might be waiting for.
Todd scoured his memory. Had they given him a code word to say for this scenario? What could the genius scientists who had meticulously planned this whole trip, who had more brain power than Todd could even imagine want him to say in this exact moment. What wide minded combination of phrases would the smartest people on the planet Earth, or rather Mars, need to hear in order to let him go.
With a flash it came to him.
“My name is Todd H. Jacobson,” he declared.
Saying his own name in full did seem to help - at least just to ground him. Excluding his full middle name had been an intentional choice, and most definitely was not something he would try to say aloud under any circumstances. Still too embarrassing even if nobody was listening, but that's what he wrote on the forms. Specialists always keep the best records.
Confidence began to once again solidify inside of his chest now, despite the failed attempt, it was time to make a declaration. Speaking with as much masculine bravado that he could muster, recalling images of his father yelling at government representatives over the phone, Todd announced:
“I’m your new janitor, can someone come remove these cuffs… please?”
In an instant, the metal restraints around his ankles, wrists, and neck retracted back into the table with a whoosh and a clang. Sitting up in shock, Todd rubbed the areas of his extremities and neck that had been reddened by the cuffs and gazed in slack jawed stupidity at the table which had held him so tightly moments ago.
I guess ‘please’ really is the magic word.
After a brief shake of his head, Todd began to look around the room. Other than the long, white, unlabeled cabinet on the left wall, the workstation and sink to his right, and the bed which was welded onto the wall, only a sleek metal door with a single window in the center graced the wall opposite him. He could see nothing but more metal beyond it.
A brief investigation of the instruments on the metal work station revealed nothing useful to him - if only he had been trained as a medic instead of a landscaper. The metal tools twisted and bent in many odd shapes and configurations that made Todd’s head spin, he’d surely never seen any medical instruments that looked anything like this back at home. Maybe the Mars doctors up here discovered that - somehow - a metal corkscrew is actually quite useful and humane during open heart surgeries.
Shaking his head to dislodge the thoughts of metal spikes exploring his very private internal organs, he stared forward at the only door in the room.
It was all behind there. His new job, new place to sleep, new responsibilities… they would all be his so soon. All that he had to do was stand, walk to the door, and leave. Easy peasy, no two ways about it. Get up off the table, walk to the door, open it, go find whoever the manager is, and ask them what they needed him to start cleaning. That sounds like what a janitor would do. He had expected some semblance of job training when he woke up, but guessing was as good as anything at this point.
What if I’m no good at it? A sinister voice crept up from the depths of his stomach, along with it prowled a predatory red hot chill grew and covered his body in an instant. The feeling adhered him to the table.
Landscaping he could do - that he was quite sure of. It was simple, and his bosses always gave him goals that seemed both achievable and easy to accomplish. Every day he clocked in, mowed the lawn of a billionaire's house, and clock out. Job training was quick and easy enough, even though it added to his debt.
Todd always felt at peace on those wide expanses of grass. Despite the long hours, he would wake up every day excited to make his lines as straight as possible. It was a peaceful life, the green fields would seem to stretch onward forever into his mind, and he often found himself creating dream scenarios of what was happening at the end of that long grass field while he worked.
Once, while he was mowing the lawn of one Dylan Harrington - the district manager of “Homes 4 U,” a subsidiary of “Houses for America,” (a private organization established after the passing of the Federal “Affordable Homes and Houses Bill,” during President Bezos’s fourth term; dismantling all federal housing programs and establishing private firms which would be subsidized through the government via the Amazon company) - Todd found himself lost in a daydream. This particular dream echoed through time for years until it slammed into Todd’s head while he sat on a metal table deep in space. The scene took place, as all of Todd’s daydreams did, at the end of a large field of grass.
In the dreamscape there are always two people, and the two people are in love. These people, much like Todd, did not have a lot of money. But unlike Todd, they didn't even have enough money to pay for an apartment, not even an old rundown one like he had.
Despite this, Todd imagined the people happy. So happy in fact that they didn’t need a $2,000 month, 400 square foot ramshackle apartment courtesy of Amazon.com. Although he could never see their faces, he knew that the lovers were so happy in their little world of green that they didn’t need anything at all.
They made huts of grass, cooked meals of dew in the morning, and could do anything they wanted all day, every day. Neither of them had jobs, and it seemed - as Todd liked to think - that nothing at all was wrong with them not having jobs. They didn’t need one like he did. They were free.
He would imagine these people living happily on their field of green, staring down their verdant driveway down at Todd on his lawnmower as he made his perfect lines in the grass - and oh how perfect he could make those lines…
They would listen to him going back and forth and back and forth, trying his best to not tear out any more grass than was necessary on his sharp turns. They would watch him turn around tree wells, avoid breaking down fences, and get as close to ponds as he could without losing the thousand dollar riding mower to the water. They would listen to him try not to get fired.
In his mind, the lovers would laugh at him. Though he never quite understood why, he nonetheless liked to imagine it. Maybe they laughed at the perfection of his mow lines, the straightaways giving them as much joy as they gave him. Or maybe, as Todd considered while sitting on a cold metal table somewhere across the galaxy from his home, they were laughing because they were jealous of just how perfect he could get them.
Making perfectly straight lines was one of the few things that Todd felt good at doing, and it made him hope there’s enough up here on Mars that needed a good old straightening out.
He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about straight lines. They could be followed on and on down his mind forever, happy and perfect, gliding eternally through his thoughts. Eventually he could follow the lines to the happy couple who kept on laughing and laughing.
A rush of adrenaline came from that internal place. Todd snapped his eyes back open and began swiveling his head around the room to triple check there was nothing he couldn’t straighten out. The disorganized tools on the workbench whispered to him once more but those frightened him far too much.
Shifting away from the tools, his leg was once again assaulted with a sharp poke. This time without the restraints, his right hand was free to plunge into his pocket with minimal complaining from his sore arm. Inside, his questing fingers found something cold to the touch. Furrowing his brow, Todd fully grasped at the thing, and pulled everything from the pocket.
In his shaking, weak hand, sat a small metal piece and a huge black feather. The piece was about two inches long, shaped like a capital ‘L’, with its short end about an inch wide and rounded. Its long end came to a pyramidal sharp point. It seemed to catch fire in the dim orange light.
The feather sharing a space in his wide palm was long and dark black, the ends reflecting the same orange as the rest of the room. He looked down at it and traced the center vein that once connected the black sail to its owner.
Huge Raven, his mind screamed at him.
The memory of his last day on Earth rushed back into his skull, splitting a crack so deep as to dislodge a stinging headache. With the spindle of pain aggravating his echoing skull, Todd constructed the same phrase he always utilized when confronted with strange Raven activity:
Birds will be Birds.
After a moment of staring at the trinket and feather, he elected to put them back in his pocket for safekeeping - at least until he was shown his room. These could be his first decorations - if the doctors were so kind as to give him enough space that is.
Clearing the remnants of any bird related thoughts out of his mind, Todd took in a breath and prepared to hoist himself off of the table.
With a huff, the man twisted himself off the metal slab, primarily using his left arm for the propelling force as his right seemed to have spent its strength on the observation of the bird’s gifts. Bare feet slapped the metal ground, and not a moment later his knees buckled under his weight.
During his freefall towards the ground, his skull made the executive decision to steady him by slamming itself against the metal table. It made a very satisfying, ‘GOOONG’
Thereafter Todd was a jumbled mess on the floor.
Pain spiderwebbed from the area his head and the table had made their brief but impactful exchange. The room became spinning lines, and as Todd closed his eyes to save himself from this whirlwind of vision. He found that the floor didn't feel all that dissimilar to the table he had just clamored off.
Todd remained a puddle for a moment, slowly rubbing his hands through his sparse hair. The first bump, forming where his head met table, was long and already began to well up. Almost by instinct, he held his hand in front of his face - dry.
Thank God, He thought, slowly sitting and pulling his legs to cross in front of himself.
Back hunched, he reached behind his head to feel the large bump where he had fallen and hit the floor. It was the size of a golf ball and hard as a stone, but again no blood.
Gulping in a large breath of air, Todd resolved himself to stand once more. His right arm still shook violently, still not even strong enough to write his own name, but his left hand found a firm placement on the metal table, and he slowly pulled himself up and off of the cold ground. His legs shook, and he stared at them with blistering anger. It didn’t seem to make sense to him that his legs would be in this condition, surely they shouldn't be this bad after only a few months in a pod.
How strong was that cryo-whatever drug? He thought.
“Ughh,’ he bemoaned, slightly under his breath on the slight off chance a doctor would finally be waltzing by in the exact moment he opened his big mouth, “I should have been a fuckin’ scientist.”
The thin, five millennia man clamored his way back up onto his table, which began to feel much like a prison to him, and went back to sleep; he saw the lovers on their field of green. They were holding each other, pointing and laughing into the sky, hands over their mouths.
***
When Todd’s eyes snapped open for the third and final time after being locked away from history and time, he noticed three things:
First: his vision was completely obstructed.
Something thin and flat covered his eyes, dispersing the light from the bulb above into a field of dim orange all across his view.
The attempted removal of said sheet revealed to him the second revelation: He had been re-shackled to the metal table.
When his first attempt at wildly failing his body in frustration didn’t work, Todd strained against the metal cuffs. Gagging on the metal around his neck, he screeched, “Someone get these things off me!”
Silence.
Panic fluttered in his chest as he continued his struggle against the restraints.
Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, a fevered voice howled inside his head. Drowning in fear, thick salty water welled in his eyelids and dragged him into a blubbering state of total despair.
“Please, please,” he weakly begged, letting out a long, pathetic sigh before continuing, “Please someone come remove these cuffs, pl-“
Woosh… Clang, the metal cuffs around his wrists, ankles, and neck retreated.
Todd lay drenched in sweat like a fish who had accepted his death above the sea.
Idiot Todd, He told himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid…
He lifted his left arm to smack his head and teach himself a lesson about panicking, but his hand found something else instead. The sheet of paper that covered his eyes was dry and thin, crinkling with the slightest touch.
Upon observing this narrow three by twelve inch sheet, his eyes wandered down to his right forearm, finding his third and final discovery of the day: There was something coming out of it. Some sort of clear tube.
Swallowing a wad of panic again to save himself from any future embarrassment, Todd squinted at the strange protrusion. Having never been to the doctors once in his life - Todd and his family were considered “uninsurable,” by the new classifications established after the passing of the “Rights of Insurers Act” of 2039 (a Bill penned by Lobbyists of the Disney Corporation - who graciously absorbed Medicare and Medicaid to help save the Government from its overwhelming debt two years prior) - he had never seen an IV up close.
Todd tracked the clear tube from where it entered his arm all the way out, down to the floor, and up a metal post which held a bag of water connecting to the clear tube’s opposite end.
It took him a while to understand the function of the device. It was plastic, not any kind of living snake or worm… Eventually, a faded memory of a medical tv show his parents had been watching that came free with their Disney-Amazon Prime-Plus Subscription - Taken out as a part of all American’s income tax since 2043 - entered his head.
In the show, a man covered in CGI injuries laid on a sheet of white paper that was draped over a clean rolling table. His face was bloody and the doctors rushed him hurriedly from room to room on the very expensive looking wheel bed, carrying alongside it a strange metal post with a bag of liquid connected to him via a clear tube.
“GET THIS MAN 4CCs of STEM CELLS STAT! DON’T YOU KNOW WHO HIS FATHER IS?” The panicked doctors screamed.
Tinges of excitement flung themselves from Todd’s head to his feet, and back.
A real life IV, just for little ol’ me? He shuddered with privilege.
This was a device used to keep only those rich enough to own at least two companies alive! Precious, clean filtered water is placed in these bags and pumped right into their arms, any time - day or night. He heard that they were used in emergencies for those with expensive enough insurance plans, but he had seen enough of them in the windows of the houses he landscaped for that he they must be more than an emergency measure for the most wealthy.
Todd recalled hearing that they sometimes filled these bags with drugs or other fun things to help the millionaires have a good day, but he doubted that they would be treating him that well. He was just a janitor afterall, it was a wonder they spared a whole IV just for him.
Maybe he really would like it up here on Mars. See Todd, he soothed himself in his own mind, There’s no need to panic. Everything is going exactly as planned. And to top it all off, you’re being treated like a KING! Not too bad Toddy Boy, not bad at all…
Finally, he turned his attention to the half crumpled piece of paper in his left hand. Unfurling it revealed typed script that read:
“Good Morning Spaceman,
Welcome to the Spaceship Unity! We, the humble crew, are so happy to have you aboard!!
Apologies for the restraints, but it seems as though you have already figured out the pass-phrase, and if you’re reading this that means you’ve found it again! Go you!! So smart!
You have successfully passed the cognitive and language tests we have devised to ensure the health of your mental faculties! Feel free to wander the ship at your leisure!
Lucky, lucky you!
We have observed your vitals and watched you via our onboard camera system, and by all means your legs should have recovered enough from their cryo-atrophy to be able to walk! No more falling down for you, Spaceman!
Though that right arm might still feel a bit funky, I’m so sorry about that!
:( !!
Apologies for not getting you water as soon as you woke up, but how were we to know?
Anyway, I, and the rest of the crew of the Spaceship Unity hope to meet you soon, Spaceman!
Signed,
Eddard, Pilot of the Spaceship Unity”
The paper fell to his waist, still clinched in Todd's grasp.
Eyebrows intensely furrowed, he stared off into a corner of the room. Fingers and toes curled tightly, he began to unwrap the knot in his mind that was created by the word ‘cryo-atrophy.’ After giving up trying to decipher its meaning, only one deep, terrifying thought remained.
Spaceship?
The word danced in his mind, twirling around his brainstem and sashaying over his amygdala. On and on it went, eventually performing an astounding tango down his arm and yanking the paper back up to his eyes. With the same tempo, his eyes searched for the place where he must have misread something.
As far as he was concerned, the paper should have read something like,
“Dear New Janitor,
Welcome to Mars… bla bla bla… this is who will train you for your Janitorial Duties… Training starts at Martian 8am Sharp, late arrivals are subject to immediate expulsion… bla bla bla… Martian winters can be tough, so make sure you bundle up with thick Janitorial Gloves… bla bla bla bla bla…”
Or something to that effect.
Much to his surprise, however, the words on the page stayed the same no matter how many times he checked. Todd even tried to trick the paper, as though somehow catching a momentary sideways glance would show the letters that were supposed to be there. This hypothesis was proven wrong after four or five attempts, then a sixth just to make sure.
His poor heart once again began to madly thump in his chest. Each fevered spasm of the central organ dumping more and more panic into his stomach and limbs, counting each word on the long page.
So many things were wrong, each worse than the last. The two terribly wrong things hammered on his skull like a church bell:
No mention of Mars, No mention of Janitorial duties.
Panic rose in his chest and gained enough internal momentum to force its way down and through his legs, propelling him from his sitting position to his feet in a stiff, fevered, and sweating upright hunch. His legs were forced to pace around the room and his hands were puppeteered to massage his balding crown. In the movement, the line of the IV was yanked from his arm and clattered like a dead snake to the floor. Todd was too worried to notice.
None of this made sense, none of it. He wanted to believe this was a joke, but the note was so sincere. Something was deeply wrong.
This wasn't just a prank, this wasn’t some laugh at Todd the Janitor. No. Something had gotten messed up, bad, and if Todd knew anything about mistakes, he knew that they were usually pinned on him.
Ever since he was a child he always felt like he couldn't help but do just about everything wrong, and just about everyone was bound to notice eventually.
At the very least, the pilot and author of the note did seem to be very nice. Maybe he wouldn't be mad that Todd had no idea where the hell he was.
I’ll look for him first, Todd resolved, dragging some semblance of self from the soup of anxiety that ravaged in his gut.
Maybe, just maybe, if he could find this Eddard fella - wherever he is - before running into the rest of the nebulous crew - wherever they are - then he could explain everything, turn the ship around, and get headed back to his job as a Janitor on Mars.
A bead of sweat fell down his face at the thought of the Martian scientists, angrily awaiting his late arrival. Were they keeping his job safe for him? Surely not, that’s not something that happens to workers like him.
A pit opened in his stomach, black and gaping. What if they had already replaced him? What would he do for work? Where would he live? What if he was already so tardy for his first day that they no longer even wanted him for the job at all anymore!? What would he do then?
Somewhere through the the panic, a very determined part of Todd’s inner psyche came up with a plan of action:
Go out of those doors Toddy Boy. Then go… his eyes shifted back and forth while he thought before deciding a direction at random, Right… You go right then… keep walking until you find the… he thought of the right word to top off his master plan, pilot’s room…
His thoughts trailed away, as his eyes found the floor in disappointment. What’s that word?
Huffing, Todd snapped his attention forward, and began to put his plan into action.
His legs carried him slowly, step by step to the door of the room. With great effort, he reached his hand and grabbed the metal handle. The door to his small, safe, metal room swung open silently and much faster than he expected, nearly scraping the opposite wall of the narrow hallway into which it opened.
Grasping the small metal piece in his pocket for assurance, Todd stepped fully into the hallway and let the door glide back shut.
Click.
A light breeze drifted through the hallway, and Todd took a right.
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