The Quota for the Day

By Nicole R. Murphy

The shock of electricity came unexpectedly. It rocketed through his body, coming from the seat he sat on and spreading quickly through his muscles and centring in his brain. It gained the required result as his head bent lower over his work station and his stylus bumped the screen to chose options and answers. It was several minutes before the buzzing in his head ceased and he ventured to lift his eyes from the screen. Looking around, he could see everyone around him doing the same as he: bent almost double over their desks, punching the screen. The silence was deep and long. He wanted to watch the others but knew he had to be careful for if his inattention was noted, he would receive the shock again. He could judge to perfection just how high he could lift his head to look around without it being noticed, just how long he could break from his work, just how long his stylus could rest on the screen before it would raise an alarm and send another shock through him. Well, he amended as the tingles of the last shock gave one more gasp before fading, almost to perfection. He also knew how long he had to work for before he could gain the maximum resting time. They weren't idiots, he thought as his stylus moved over the screen again, they knew they had to allow some rest time. The stories surrounding the research that had helped them make these decisions were legendary, and there were photographs all along the hallway showing the glorious students, as they were called: the ones who had valiantly given their lives for the good of their society. Not that he or anyone around him had really looked at the photographs. They spent so much time bent over like this that they now walked hunched over, their eyes focussed on the floor just in front of them. He looked at the information he had collected on his screen, checking it for accuracy before he sent it to the main database for it to be assessed. This was the one thing they did allow, plenty of time to complete each task. Not because they were kind, but because the research had shown the optimum time required to ensure all possibility of complete accuracy. When the next task appeared on his screen, he breathlessly whispered an exclamation of joy before beginning it, knowing it meant his previous answers had been correct. He had no idea how much time he had passed here so far today, but the grumbling within his stomach and the twitching of his feet showed him it was close to the five minute break time. He decided to make the sensors react to this a little faster and bring the break time on sooner, but the attempt merely bought about another shock. He completed another two tasks correctly, then took time to have another quick break and wondered what all these shocks were doing to his brain. It was not the first time he had thought of this and had even asked about it. They had told him it did no real damage but if he was really concerned, all he had to do was what was follow directions immediately and with complete obedience and then the number of shocks he received would be greatly reduced. They also told him it was possible to receive no shocks whatsoever but he found that impossible to believe. Surely no human being could be so lifeless. His mother always told him that with more effort, he could easily be getting half the shocks he was and possibly even less, but while he continued to be so disobedient- then she would walk away, shaking her head and muttering that no son of hers could be so. It must be difficult for his mother to have a son like him, he reflected. After all, she was a voter, one of the most valuable members of society. She was one of the chosen, those responsible for deciding all the laws they lived by. To have a son like him, who just could not obey- his thoughts were interrupted when another shock ripped through him, telling him he had been off-task too long. Beginning to work again, he took the time to look at the indicator at the top of the screen. The day was not half over, and already he was perilously close to the quota. He had not been over quota for several days. It was time to buckle down to it.

Two more tasks were completed before he was allowed his five minute break. He pushed his chair back and the small drawer beneath his screen popped out, containing the biscuit and vitamin pill that was the customary refreshment. He took these out and put them into his mouth. The drawer moved back in and he felt the pedals slide out onto his feet. He put his feet into them and pedaled as viscously as he could until they were unceremoniously yanked off his feet and back underneath the screen. With a sigh, he pulled his chair back in and began working again. They were being very nice to him today, he thought. Every task was quite simple which he was grateful for as today he was finding it very difficult to concentrate. His eyes flicked from the screen to the room, taking in the clean environment, the barely discernible sounds of the breathing of the others. Casting his eyes sideways, he saw James' body rock with a shock. Poor James, he had a cold and every time a sniffle or sneeze rose above the standards of noise, he was shocked. There was no doubt old James would be reaching his quota soon. A shock rocketing through his own body made him realise his head had lifted higher than was allowed, so he bent it down and concentrated on his task again. He had completed another task when a whooshing sound next to him caught his attention, and he looked in time to see James disappear into the floor, which closed over his head. Over his quota, poor bloke. But nothing could be allowed to interfere with the standards that produced optimum performance, and that included letting someone with a cold disturb the others with sneezing. Luckily, it was James' first cold. Too many, and he would be deemed too disturbing and no longer allowed to attend. No one knew what happened to those who were deemed too disturbing but as they were never seen or heard from again it took little imagination to think it was a horrid fate that awaited them. The tasks continued uninterrupted until the next five minute break. Once again, the same refreshment and exercise was offered and would be for the day. Tomorrow's would be different and the day after that different again. Everyday had a combination of refreshment and exercise taken from a set menu and mixed up to last over several weeks before a day was repeated again. He particularly liked the days that a piece of fruit and the rocking chair occurred together. He wished it happened more often and had said so to his sister, but she had scoffed at him, saying too much of one thing lead to boredom. One could not allow boredom, for boredom would disturb optimum performance.

Getting back to his work, he saw he had no inaccuracies for the day and was nearly half way through the tasks. He was looking good for a reward and by Jove, he deserved one. He attacked the next task with renewed vigour, crowing inside as he completed the task in near record time. Unfortunately, his enthusiasm overcame his intellect and the task was returned from the database with a shock to show he had done something wrong. While this lowered the level of reward he could get, it also put him closer to the quota. He needed to be careful. He quickly found the error he had made and corrected it so the next task would come to him. The error meant he would have less time to complete this task and it also happened to be much harder than any other task he had seen today. His forehead screwed up with concentration as he made attempt after attempt, finally sending it to the database with mere seconds to spare. It was correct, and he allowed a smile to crease his face until he saw the next task, which was harder than anything he had seen before, he was sure. He managed to look up through his lashes at the window at the front of the room. They had given him easy tasks, to give him a false sense of security and were now sending the hardest tasks they could think of, he knew it. They were setting him up, he was sure of it. They had not liked that he had avoided quota for a few days and had set him up to fail it. Anger boiled through him. Well, he would show them! His head bent even lower and his teeth pulled at his lip as he concentrated on the task. Soon, he was sure he had the answer and after checking it, sent it. A new one came back with no shock and he nearly yelled his satisfaction until he looked at the task carefully. Surely this was not a sanctioned task for his level. He checked the code and saw that it was legal. He swore under his breath, then attacked it vigorously. He worked hard and long on it until the nearly silent beeping told him his time was running out. Not completing the task in time would take him over his quota for the day. Realising he was caught, he decided to go down fighting. Slamming the stylus down, he jumped to his feet and screamed, noticing with triumph that he managed to get the sound out and frighten a couple of those around him before they reacted. Then the room disappeared as the floor went out from underneath him and he started to fall.

Down, down through darkness that seemed to have no ending then landing with a thump in bright light. He scrambled to his feet, as always grateful for the soft landing they gave after the long fall and stood with his hands clenched by his sides as a voice spoke, "Patrick O'Donald, you have reached the quota for today. As you have reached the quota on more than five previous occasions this year, you will face the maximum consequences for your actions." The light went out and the small space became pitch black. The anger kept him going for some time, but it eventually wore itself out, leaving him alone in the darkness. He knew what they wanted and he clenched his fists tighter as he fought not to give it to them. His mind raced to work a way out of this, but it kept coming back to the fact it was dark. Really dark. Very, very dark. Much darker than he remembered. And it was getting cold. No, he wasn't going to let them get to him. He began to march on the spot and started to sing songs in his head. He kept this up for some time, making up silly verses to entertain himself although he was very careful not to sing or laugh out loud, as he knew they would not like that. But soon he was so tired and hungry that he could continue no more. Then he became overwhelmingly aware of the darkness again, gathering around him, squeezing him. With every passing moment, it seemed to be getting darker and darker, which he knew was impossible. Things started to brush against his legs, his imagination turning them into foul beasts come to devour him. And then he heard a roar in his ear. It was too much.

"Let me out, let me out, I'll be good, I promise I'll be a good boy, I'll never be naughty again, there's a monster in here, let me out, let me out." A door opened and he ran out at a great pace, straight into the arms of his mother. He clung to her, sobbing and crying. His mother stood, picking him up.

"I am so sorry." His mother was saying to someone over his shoulder.

"We know Patrick is a good boy, Mrs O'Donald. He just needs to learn some self control." The voice that had spoken to him in the room sounded much nicer now.

"Yes, thankyou, Miss Miller." Then his mother pulled his head away from her shoulder. "Say goodbye to Miss Miller, Patrick."

"Goodbye, Miss Miller, I will be good tomorrow, I promise."

"I am sure you will, Patrick." Miss Miller reached forward and ruffled his hair. His mother carried him out in silence and did not speak to him until they were outside.

"What will I do with you, Patrick Samuel O'Donald?" She said, giving him a little shake. "You are such a naughty boy. Maybe I shouldn't have started you until next year."

"I will be good, Mummy, I promise."

"When we go home, you will go straight to your room and will finish the rest of today's tasks and your homework and you will not be allowed to eat until you do, is that clear?" He nodded, and looked balefully at the pre-school building as they walked away.

The End

Bio:Nicole R Murphy is a writer and second hand bookstore owner who, in her husband's opinion, spends far too much time reading. Whether he is as unhappy with the amount of time spent writing is yet to be determined. Nicole had had two stories published in the anthology Enchanted Realms, available from www.xlibris.com and will be having stories published in Twilight Times ezine in October and Antipodean SF ezine in January, 2002. Visit her website for more short stories, details about her novel writing and other tidbits.

E-mail: nicole@nicolermurphy.com

URL: www.nicolermurphy.com

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