Excerpt: First passages from Your Call Is Important To Us
Hi all,
I'm working on a sequel to my last novel, a dystopian, sci-fi black comedy called Thank You For Your Cooperation.
This installment is called Your Call Is Important To Us. Although still being written, I thought I'd share the very beginning with you.
Enjoy!
-------------------
“Hello?”
“Yes. What?”
A short but excruciating silence. “I was given this number by a colleague.”
Somewhere out in the vast but tangled web of transistors, processor cores, and fiber optic cable spanning the Bunker, he sensed the cold but immediate decision to cut the line.
“No, wait! Don't hang up. I –”
“Of course you are. Everyone is who resorts to the hotline. But it doesn't matter. Not to me, anyway.”
“I – I think there's been some kind of mistake.”
“Of course there was.”
The silence at the other end of the line grew suspicious. “Is this really someone from Red Tape Consulting? Or are you an imposter phishing for treason?”
The answer was swift and determined. “Sir, if you have committed any treason, there is no dissimulation that could possibly save you. There's certainly nothing I can do.”
Undaunted, he repeated the question.
“I don't know. Did your colleague say so?”
“It's right here in the pamphlet she gave me. It says you're able to solve routine, administrative errors in the blink of an eye.”
“Yes, that's us! Red Hoop Consulting.”
“Tape.”
“What?”
“Red Tape Consulting.”
When the voice from Red Tape Consulting spoke next, it had taken on just the slightest hint of steel. “Sir, I'm a very busy cybot. If you continue to waste my time, I'll have to add you to the reject list.”
“No!” Palpable waves of panic lashed at her empathic processors. “I'll get right to the point.”
“I'm sure you will.” The the voice continued as if discussing the latest flavor of Flappantastic. “Before we proceed, I am obliged to point out that I can't be of service until you have proven you're willing to help yourself.”
He frowned, unsure how to proceed. “But that's why I'm calling.”
If a bot could have emitted a sigh of frustration, it surely would have done so now. “Sir, I fail to see how my inflection or choice of words could lead to any confusion. Shall I break down the structure of the sentence and explain its syntax?”
He was used to bots, though. Their brains may not have been equipped to understand frustration, but there were plenty of cycles dedicated to the fine art of sarcasm. “Yes, yes! I'll do whatever it takes. It's just – You're not – How can I explain?”
“Sir, you dialed this number. Surely, you must know the reason.”
“It's an embarrassing situation. A real boehner actually.” He chuckled uncomfortably.
“Rest assured, citizen Barney Max. This call is completely anonymous! Feel free to tell me anything.”
In the silence that followed, he thought he could hear the muffled breathing of the poor sod on duty at his neighborhood Homeland Security substation. Swallowing thickly, he clenched his teeth and spoke the words for the first time. “I'm on the List.”
A chill ran up his spine.
“Excuse me? Sir, you're speaking too quickly.”
Aggravated, he repeated himself.
“List? What list?”
“The List!”
The bot from Red Tape Consulting seemed taken aback. “Surely not that List. I mean, it would say so in your profile.”
“Really?” Barney Max was pleased and taken aback at the same time, as difficult as it may sound. “That's wonderful news! Because the guardian at the Richard M. Nixon spaceport G sector –”
The hope that had germinated in the recesses of his heart, however, was short-lived. It was tragically cut down by the terrified shriek from the bot at the other end of the line.
“George Walker! You really are on the List!”
“Number nine hundred and ninety-nine?” Barney squeaked, crestfallen.
But the problem solver from Red Tape Consulting had already hung up. Even bots were afraid of having any association whatsoever with a vile and dangerous criminal of the likes of Barney Max.
There are many social deviants in the Bunker, but only a thousand at any one time are honored with a place in the List. And even if he had only weighed in at number nine hundred and ninety-nine, it was a distinction Barney Max was desperate to rid himself of. After all, no one ever remained on the List for very long, and as far as he knew, none of them had ever been rehabilitated.
Apparently, the line hadn't been cut completely. A calm, mechanical voice spoke to him suddenly out of the silence at the other end of his PA.
“This call has been recorded for quality assurance. Anything you said can and will be used against you. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Click.
I'm working on a sequel to my last novel, a dystopian, sci-fi black comedy called Thank You For Your Cooperation.
This installment is called Your Call Is Important To Us. Although still being written, I thought I'd share the very beginning with you.
Enjoy!
-------------------
“Hello?”
“Yes. What?”
A short but excruciating silence. “I was given this number by a colleague.”
Somewhere out in the vast but tangled web of transistors, processor cores, and fiber optic cable spanning the Bunker, he sensed the cold but immediate decision to cut the line.
“No, wait! Don't hang up. I –”
“Of course you are. Everyone is who resorts to the hotline. But it doesn't matter. Not to me, anyway.”
“I – I think there's been some kind of mistake.”
“Of course there was.”
The silence at the other end of the line grew suspicious. “Is this really someone from Red Tape Consulting? Or are you an imposter phishing for treason?”
The answer was swift and determined. “Sir, if you have committed any treason, there is no dissimulation that could possibly save you. There's certainly nothing I can do.”
Undaunted, he repeated the question.
“I don't know. Did your colleague say so?”
“It's right here in the pamphlet she gave me. It says you're able to solve routine, administrative errors in the blink of an eye.”
“Yes, that's us! Red Hoop Consulting.”
“Tape.”
“What?”
“Red Tape Consulting.”
When the voice from Red Tape Consulting spoke next, it had taken on just the slightest hint of steel. “Sir, I'm a very busy cybot. If you continue to waste my time, I'll have to add you to the reject list.”
“No!” Palpable waves of panic lashed at her empathic processors. “I'll get right to the point.”
“I'm sure you will.” The the voice continued as if discussing the latest flavor of Flappantastic. “Before we proceed, I am obliged to point out that I can't be of service until you have proven you're willing to help yourself.”
He frowned, unsure how to proceed. “But that's why I'm calling.”
If a bot could have emitted a sigh of frustration, it surely would have done so now. “Sir, I fail to see how my inflection or choice of words could lead to any confusion. Shall I break down the structure of the sentence and explain its syntax?”
He was used to bots, though. Their brains may not have been equipped to understand frustration, but there were plenty of cycles dedicated to the fine art of sarcasm. “Yes, yes! I'll do whatever it takes. It's just – You're not – How can I explain?”
“Sir, you dialed this number. Surely, you must know the reason.”
“It's an embarrassing situation. A real boehner actually.” He chuckled uncomfortably.
“Rest assured, citizen Barney Max. This call is completely anonymous! Feel free to tell me anything.”
In the silence that followed, he thought he could hear the muffled breathing of the poor sod on duty at his neighborhood Homeland Security substation. Swallowing thickly, he clenched his teeth and spoke the words for the first time. “I'm on the List.”
A chill ran up his spine.
“Excuse me? Sir, you're speaking too quickly.”
Aggravated, he repeated himself.
“List? What list?”
“The List!”
The bot from Red Tape Consulting seemed taken aback. “Surely not that List. I mean, it would say so in your profile.”
“Really?” Barney Max was pleased and taken aback at the same time, as difficult as it may sound. “That's wonderful news! Because the guardian at the Richard M. Nixon spaceport G sector –”
The hope that had germinated in the recesses of his heart, however, was short-lived. It was tragically cut down by the terrified shriek from the bot at the other end of the line.
“George Walker! You really are on the List!”
“Number nine hundred and ninety-nine?” Barney squeaked, crestfallen.
But the problem solver from Red Tape Consulting had already hung up. Even bots were afraid of having any association whatsoever with a vile and dangerous criminal of the likes of Barney Max.
There are many social deviants in the Bunker, but only a thousand at any one time are honored with a place in the List. And even if he had only weighed in at number nine hundred and ninety-nine, it was a distinction Barney Max was desperate to rid himself of. After all, no one ever remained on the List for very long, and as far as he knew, none of them had ever been rehabilitated.
Apparently, the line hadn't been cut completely. A calm, mechanical voice spoke to him suddenly out of the silence at the other end of his PA.
“This call has been recorded for quality assurance. Anything you said can and will be used against you. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Click.
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