Lurranus Stories: Empirius (Part 1)

2086

“Why again do you want to work at Empirius?”
Craig slowly looked up from the cheap, flavourless and unfulfilling mush that passed for his breakfast, to see the accusatory and perplexed gaze of his friend Ryan at the opposite end of the cheap plastic tablet the two sat at. He shrugged.
“I don’t know.” He muttered, his wild, shoulder-length, brown hair flopping around as he spoke. He wore a black suit, complete with a dark red tie, which seemed a little too big and unnatural on his skinny frame.
“You don’t know?” Ryan said, unamused. He dropped his spoon into his equally unsatisfying meal, and leant forward, the tattoos on his arms bulging out, and his brow contorting. With his close cut hair and lean body, he was a considerable contrast to Craig, yet the two were very close friends. This was the first thing to drive a major wedge between the two since they first met.
“Okay, I do know.” Craig exclaimed, annoyed. “They have lots of money, and I have some ideas about what I’d like to do.”
Ryan sighed. “Right, that’s a touching sentiment, don’t get me wrong, but you do realise what this company is like?”
Craig sighed. He didn’t want to have this discussion again, and so shrugged in response.
“You do recall that most fateful year of 2068, when they were mowing down innocent civilians in Edinburgh during the riots, right?” Ryan began in an exaggerated tone, but finished in a blunt, accusatory one.
“Obviously.” He replied like a child answering his scolding parents.
Ryan continued in his blunt manner. “And you do know what’s going on in the streets. How they’re arming various governments so they can suppress their people. And how those same people are out on the streets - and outside the Empirius base, I think - every day, protesting against those measures, and rightfully so!”
“Yes, I do.”
“I mean, I’ve been to a few myself!” Ryan cried out, exasperated.
At that moment, a soft ping ran out. A mechanical voice followed.
“Incoming call: Jack MacAllister.”
”Answer.” The two responded in unison.
Jack’s face appeared on the television on the other side of the room. Ryan’s younger brother had lived with them until two years ago, but upon turning thirty, decided it was time he went his own way. He now resided in American with a new group of friends. Ryan, who was thirty-six and Craig, who was thirty-seven, had remained in the United Kingdom.
“Good morning lads. Is today that day.” He asked jovially.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Ryan responded, getting up from the table and going into the corner.
“You nervous?” Jack asked in his typically gentle manner, his enlarged features peering out the television.
“A little. I think my CV’s good. I’ll just have to watch for my manner.”
“Yeah, that is the worry.” Ryan’s voice piped up from the corner. “Do try not to swear or mumble too much.”
“Looks like you don’t need me.” Jack joked.
“With that hunky barrel of wisdom and optimism you have for a brother... no, not really. But, of course, we wouldn’t want you feeling left out.”
“That means a lot to me.”
“I’m glad it does.”
“But in all seriousness, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“No he won’t.” Ryan stated, walking back to the table with a packet of paprika powder. “He’s not a prick, so he won’t fit in there.”
“That’s not nice!” Jack chided. Ryan shrugged.
“Well, technically he did compliment me.” Craig interjected.
Jack sighed. “Well, just ignore - hang on, what is that?”
“What?” Craig looked again, before realising Jack was addressing his brother.
“It’s paprika flavouring.” Craig responded. Ryan looked up, realising it was him the two were discussing.
“You need the flavour, otherwise it’s like eating...” Ryan paused. He couldn’t think of an answer, then realised that was his answer: “Nothing. Yeah, it’s like consuming literal air.”
“Whatever. Craig, you’ll do great.”
“But why?” Ryan asked, returning to his original query. “They’re shit people. They’ll do to you what they did to that former weapons company Keskal.”
“What’s that?” Jack asked.
“Take all their products from them, and leave them with nothing.”
Jack scoffed. “Keskal isn’t really a model example.” He argued. “Hell, they’re worse than Empirius.”
“Still...” Ryan shrugged.
Craig sighed.
“I know what they’ve done, I know what they’re still doing. I also know people are capable of change. There were people in my life I resented, and sure, I could... I dunno, track them down and beat the shit out of them, but then what? Would I feel better? Would it benefit anyone? Better to rise above them, and if you can, help them better themselves. I never got that chance with a lot of other people. But I have it here.”
“He’s got a point.” Jack began. “ I mean, Craig used to be a shit person.” He half-joked.
“No, I wasn’t.” Craig retorted defensively. “This is a personal assault.” Ryan gave Craig a look that showed he didn’t completely agree. “But... assuming I was...”
“Assuming...” Ryan muttered just loud enough for Craig to hear.
“I’m now a very different person.” He finished. Jack nodded enthusiastically in support.
“Fine.” Ryan sighed. “People change. I point I will accept if you admit you used to be a pretty lacklustre person, because if you maintain you were always a great person, it doesn’t make a great point, does it?”
Craig sighed, noting the return of the running joke about his character, in which he joking insisted he had always been a highly commended, upstanding member of society, to the chagrin of the others, who had endured his more unpleasant character traits in the past. He playfully moved to the door. “Huh. Would you look at that. I think I heard a taxi. Sorry, boys, but I’ve got to go.”
“Sure you do.” Ryan replied.
“Good luck.” Jack called out. Craig smiled back at him, and at Ryan. Ryan responded with a gentle nod: despite his reservations, he still wanted Craig to do well.
“Knock ‘em dead, slick. Literally or metaphorical, your choice.”
Jack looked at him disapproving.
“What?” Ryan laughed. Jack shook his head, and promptly ended the call in response to something on his end.

Craig ordered a taxi as he opened the flat’s door, and walked out into the ill lit orange hall. After a momentary delay as the app worked out which taxis were available, a soft voice from his phone informed him the nearest one would be at this location in three minutes, and displayed a blue icon of the car in its current position.
Craig took the five flights of stairs down, avoiding eye contact with two bantering thuggish types and glancing sympathetic at a frail drug user in a dark corner at the bottom of the stairs. Most people didn’t take the stairs, only those in the lower levels. The flat had two hundred floors. The two of them had been very lucky to get a good spot.
He stepped outside to a typically bustling world. Street vendors sold items from five years ago as antiques. Featureless white robots roamed the streets, policing or carrying heavy materials while construction workers joked behind them. The owner of a coffee shop argued with some suited officials. A solitary figure ran down the street opposite, followed by various angry voices. Automatic cars shot along the street, and honked at the odd, daring person who had the audacity to cross the road at an undesignated time. Giant grey high rises were everywhere one looked, with the sky a hidden distant wonder that one could only gaze at longingly. The sun's rays were hidden, only presenting themselves for a brief period at the middle of the day, largely replaced by artificial street lights that produced a subconsciously nauseating feeling. Holographic advertisements were piled up on each building surface, an overwhelming mass of colour that hurt to look at. The street was just noise and chaos, a mixture of logical machinery quietly going about its business and hundreds of people with different objectives bumping into each other as they did theirs.
Just as what looked like Craig’s ride turned around the corner, his phone buzzed in his pocket, to indicate the taxis imminent arrival. It was a small blue vehicle with one sided black windows, minimal leg room and an advert for new construction jobs on its side. Homing in on the phone's exact location, the taxi pulled up in front of Craig, the door smoothly opened before it came to a stop. Craig quickly hopped in, and the door automatically closed behind him.
The service offered both human and robot drivers, a necessary balance to satisfy human employment laws. However, there was little difference: both gave off predetermined questions and responses based on the passengers character and the details they filed in when they registered with the service. Craig filled in his profile “Sometimes to never” for whether he liked to engage in conversation, but sometimes, when his driver was robotic, began heavy extended rants to play with the machine's programming. Usually it just remarked “interesting point”.
Not today though. For one, his interview. And for another, his driver was human, a man named Jared, who opened the door despite the features for such a thing, and messaged someone while the automatic vehicle did most of the driving. Craig didn’t even realise this until he looked up five minutes into the journey.
The driveways worked like clockwork. The pauses were always the same duration, to the nanosecond. Craig wouldn’t be surprised if soon there were no pauses. Without the hindrance of human judgement, there were no crashes, no delays. It was illegal to use self driving cars on most public roads, and inconvenient to even try and find one of those obsolete models. The human element was only present for two reasons: it’s ability to improvise and adapt to unusual situations, and to whack the machines with a hammer when they refused to cooperate.
The car drove for twenty minutes along a packed motorway, before pulling off, and cruising softly through another packed urban area. As it stopped for its usual twenty second, by Craig’s count, he noted a lively protest outside. Against Empirius, he assumed. A single glance outside proved him correct. As a government official and sixty year old Empirius leader Damien Hale were quietly ushered into a modest white vehicle - presumably a conscious choice, a limo wouldn’t have been a good look - they public cried murder at them. Despite his career plans, Craig couldn’t blame them.
Following the rioting in 2068 after it became clear most nature resources had been used up, the governments had decided that, instead of listening to the people, the general populous were a rogue element that stood in the way of progress. Governments had become stricter on their people, and what they could or could do, and what they could or couldn’t buy. Craig felt people shouldn’t take too much, he agreed with Empirius on shelling things out equally, but knew the often extreme measures they used to control people, and knew they often invested in things that were ineffectual wastes of people's money. They had also suggested various quotas, with regards to a person’s character, that they had to pass to become a more respected member of society, allowing them access to certain items and venues. The scheme was meant to inspire people to become better versions of themselves, but just caused greater resentment, especially when scummy politicians were seen helping themselves to various luxurious when the nature of their character should have really meant they get no more than the luxury of simply being alive. There was also the artificiality of the system - the rich donating millions they didn’t need was seen as a godly act, whereas the poor were dismissed for not helping others when oftentimes they couldn’t even help themselves. Still, free speech was at least allowed, meaning people could address these issues, although those answering them remained as slippery as ever.
As the taxi started moving again, Craig opened his phone, and selected a calming, sorrowful piece of music by one of his favourite artists, David Bowie. After weakly playing out the phone for a second, suddenly the automatic Bluetooth feature kicked in. The music rang out of the car’s speakers, surrounding him and bathing him in the music's soothing, melancholy tones. Craig leant back, and closed his eyes as the car began moving again.

The Empirius complex was hidden behind a grand wall, and was surrounded by a mass of protesting men and women. They were currently some distance away, taking a breather, but still hurled the occasional verbal abuse at the robot guards next to the walls. He noted the hostility they regarded him with as he got close enough to the gate for them to realise he wasn’t one of them, but one of the enemy. He hurriedly presented his interview papers, and the human security guard buzzed him in with equal haste.
The Empirius base was made up over various different grand white buildings with unique shapes and blood red windows, with the main road leading Craig to where he assumed the interview would take place.
As Craig approached the grand glass entrance, he noted a lone man at the side of the road. He looked like a homeless man. In times like this, it was likely he was, but Empirius didn’t seem like the kind of organisation to have homeless residences on any of their premises, so the presence of this man was a mystery. Until he raised his hood.
“Hypocrites!” He cried. “Shitty little hypocrites. Don’t go in there. They’ll eat you, shred you up, and shit you back out again.”
The loose clothes and scruffy beard were new additions, but Craig vaguely remembered the face of Euan Kevil. A former Empirius employee who no longer worked for the company, he had been fired due to his involvement in the massacre in Edinburgh in 2068, an event Craig had personally experienced.
His voice was harsh, but had a strangely alluring sing-song quality. “You seem a good lad. Trust me, if you’re a semi decent person, these bastards’ll screw you over. They did that to me. You know, I used to work here.”
He got up, and began moving slowly towards Craig, loose blankets trailing behind him. Craig looked to the door. No one was there. Surely the cameras or motion sensors had picked him up. Then again, Euan seemed to be residing on the premises, and evidently no one had come to kick him off, as of yet.
“I was one of the few decent people. Then they kicked me out, used me as a scapegoat. The rest of them, a bunch of fucking low life’s. It’s all they were. Are, even.”
“Really?” Craig said mutually, in an attempt to avoid either offending or encouraging Euan.
“You better believe it. You’re best off elsewhere.”
Craig tried to reply in an even tone. “Well, I’ll wait until...”
“They screw you over? Make it so you can’t work anywhere else. Nah, save yourself the hassle.”
“Surely you can work in construction? In those new, massive flats or something? Isn’t the selecting process for them meant to be pretty dubious?”
He looked down awkwardly. “Oh yeah... but it’s not exactly a great fucking job, is it?”
“It’s a job.” Craig shrugged. “Life doesn’t always give you a lot. You make do.”
“Mr Donnely.” A distant voice cried out. “Sorry to keep you waiting with... him.”
A suited man approached, about Craig’s age and with a near buzz cut.
Euan raised his fist, and started shaking it aggressively. “Condescending little shit.”
The man nodded at Craig, mouthing “One moment.” He tensed up, not out of fear but rather anticipation. “I thought I told you to leave these premises.”
“Not until I see your fucking boss.” Euan hissed.
The man spoke in a wry manner. “I’m afraid Mr Hale doesn’t make unscheduled meetings. I did, however, inform him of your desire to become his successor, effective immediately. He’s taking the required time to think on your proposition. I should have an answer for you in five working days.”
“Snotty little bastard.” He muttered. “What happened to this company.”
Euan looked at Craig momentarily, taking another step towards Craig. Craig took a step back. “Don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you.” And with that, he took a slow, drunken stroll towards the exit, giving them the middle finger the whole way.
The man smiled. “Ever charming.” He faced Craig. “He shows up here every week or so. He used to work here, as he no doubt told you. Or did he scream it at you? It can vary. He probably told you he was a company scapegoat. However, what he always neglects to mention is he was the main person responsible for the massacre of sixty-eight. He’s all talk, that’s the one thing you need to know about him. You start poking around for more than a minute, you see his whole life story is just a flimsy sheet of paper. It’ll buckle under the slightest pressure... Just to be sure, you are Craig Donnely?”
“Yeah.” He replied sheepishly, and stuck out his hand. The man took it, and raised his eyebrows in surprise at Craig’s strong grip, a comment he often got.
“Well, I’m Tom. Follow me please, Mr Donnely.”