that. I believe it. No one's going to come shut us down."
He laughed. "Seriously? Ah, Salle, I suppose I hide it well. Have you any idea how much pressure there is on me to just open the doors and let everyone out? Do you have any idea how many appeals I get every day, pleading with me to just open the doors for a day, for a few hours, for a few minutes? Let them go out and see their family, or just see the sky, then they'll come running back in with their heads down and their tails between their legs, ready to work hard. They're begging me constantly! Can you imagine what it's like to keep saying no?"
Salle set the pencil in her hand down. They were beyond making notes. "I never heard any of that."
Mecklarin sighed. "I have the computers route it all to me directly. People are sending you these messages at the rate of about, oh, twenty a day."
"Twenty?"
He nodded. His eyes seemed to have a drunken film over them.
"When were you going to tell me?"
"I'm telling you now. We're in something of a crisis, dear. It's first positions or open the damn doors, crank up the lift and call the whole thing a failure."
Salle looked at him. He looked broken.
"It's just a damn rumor."
"Loose lips sink ships," he said. "They said that in World War Two, and it applies now just as much as then. We called this place a cruise ship, yes? This rumor could be our iceberg."
They looked at each other. Salle stared at him, daring him to overcome this challenge. He was Lars Mecklarin, her lover and a man of almighty vision, but a few words spoken in bars were breaking his will.
"Someone started this rumor," she said, "someone's spreading it. We'll find the bastard and-"
"And what?" he interjected. "Gut him? Hang him? Maybe the chair? Salle, if we do anything like that we are without doubt breaking human rights. I am not vested with the powers of a judge, and no person can sign away their human rights in a contract. First positions I can do. Perhaps ration some of the alcohol, chocolate, other treats? We can explain these things away. But I'm worried they won't work, and will instead only inflame things. Can you see people going back to work after this? We could end up with a goddamn bloodbath."
Now his eyes were glowing. He took a big sip of his Irish whiskey.
"What?" he demanded.
"Nothing," Salle said, but it wasn't nothing and both of them knew it. He'd given up. "First positions then. I'll get it started."
He looked away, toward the blue sky through the TV, and a dream of what remained above.
* * *
She made the announcements. She sent out the messages. First positions, and the security zones walls were shrinking down for purposes of a new experiment within 24 hours. Supplies of alcohol and other luxury products would be secured and rationed in the future.
She clicked send on her email program. So simple, really, to drive the axe in like that. To kill the dream. Nothing changed at once, there was no hue and outcry in the corridor, just a gradual hunkering down inside the minds of all three thousand people they were seeking to manage. A withdrawal to first positions, as once-laughing, joyful, playful and hedonistic scientists and researchers looked inside themselves and saw naked, ugly fear looking back.
No choice, Salle thought. They were leaving them with no choice.
The riots began on the first floor within five hours, and spread quickly after that. They were silly and fun at first, more like parties spiraled out of control, but as they went on, and the lack of control became apparent to everyone involved, they grew darker. The first murder came within a day, though nobody knew about it until much later, when the body count had spiked much higher.
People fought for resources like chocolate and liquor, for land and zones like the forest and soy farms, driven by a maddening fear that the outside world really was gone. To them it seemed that the security zones coming down was the first step in isolating unnecessary sectors, after
He laughed. "Seriously? Ah, Salle, I suppose I hide it well. Have you any idea how much pressure there is on me to just open the doors and let everyone out? Do you have any idea how many appeals I get every day, pleading with me to just open the doors for a day, for a few hours, for a few minutes? Let them go out and see their family, or just see the sky, then they'll come running back in with their heads down and their tails between their legs, ready to work hard. They're begging me constantly! Can you imagine what it's like to keep saying no?"
Salle set the pencil in her hand down. They were beyond making notes. "I never heard any of that."
Mecklarin sighed. "I have the computers route it all to me directly. People are sending you these messages at the rate of about, oh, twenty a day."
"Twenty?"
He nodded. His eyes seemed to have a drunken film over them.
"When were you going to tell me?"
"I'm telling you now. We're in something of a crisis, dear. It's first positions or open the damn doors, crank up the lift and call the whole thing a failure."
Salle looked at him. He looked broken.
"It's just a damn rumor."
"Loose lips sink ships," he said. "They said that in World War Two, and it applies now just as much as then. We called this place a cruise ship, yes? This rumor could be our iceberg."
They looked at each other. Salle stared at him, daring him to overcome this challenge. He was Lars Mecklarin, her lover and a man of almighty vision, but a few words spoken in bars were breaking his will.
"Someone started this rumor," she said, "someone's spreading it. We'll find the bastard and-"
"And what?" he interjected. "Gut him? Hang him? Maybe the chair? Salle, if we do anything like that we are without doubt breaking human rights. I am not vested with the powers of a judge, and no person can sign away their human rights in a contract. First positions I can do. Perhaps ration some of the alcohol, chocolate, other treats? We can explain these things away. But I'm worried they won't work, and will instead only inflame things. Can you see people going back to work after this? We could end up with a goddamn bloodbath."
Now his eyes were glowing. He took a big sip of his Irish whiskey.
"What?" he demanded.
"Nothing," Salle said, but it wasn't nothing and both of them knew it. He'd given up. "First positions then. I'll get it started."
He looked away, toward the blue sky through the TV, and a dream of what remained above.
* * *
She made the announcements. She sent out the messages. First positions, and the security zones walls were shrinking down for purposes of a new experiment within 24 hours. Supplies of alcohol and other luxury products would be secured and rationed in the future.
She clicked send on her email program. So simple, really, to drive the axe in like that. To kill the dream. Nothing changed at once, there was no hue and outcry in the corridor, just a gradual hunkering down inside the minds of all three thousand people they were seeking to manage. A withdrawal to first positions, as once-laughing, joyful, playful and hedonistic scientists and researchers looked inside themselves and saw naked, ugly fear looking back.
No choice, Salle thought. They were leaving them with no choice.
The riots began on the first floor within five hours, and spread quickly after that. They were silly and fun at first, more like parties spiraled out of control, but as they went on, and the lack of control became apparent to everyone involved, they grew darker. The first murder came within a day, though nobody knew about it until much later, when the body count had spiked much higher.
People fought for resources like chocolate and liquor, for land and zones like the forest and soy farms, driven by a maddening fear that the outside world really was gone. To them it seemed that the security zones coming down was the first step in isolating unnecessary sectors, after
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